


morning after

by brightredpiranha



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Graphic Description of a Corpse (only one) (1), Jealousy, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), No Underage Sex, Saiyans have fangs and tails bc that's more fun, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Male Character, You already know who dies you know the story, trans character(s) written by a trans author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25454665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightredpiranha/pseuds/brightredpiranha
Summary: Not dying is already a difficult feat. Add carrying the world on your shoulders and Trunks Briefs is a very busy man.[Future Trunks AU where Goten was born a year earlier. Both Trunks and Goten are trans. Story follows from childhood to Cell Saga.]
Relationships: Future Trunks Briefs/Son Goten, Trunks Briefs/Son Goten
Comments: 14
Kudos: 25





	1. City is My Church

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes before I start:  
> Tags (mostly characters) will be added as I go. Please feel free to ask me to tag something if you need it. 
> 
> There will be some OCs because I wanted to worldbuild and there is a… lack of people in the Future Trunks manga chapters. They’re all minor though. Suno is from OG Dragon Ball. 
> 
> I also made saiyans more… animal-like? Not Human, basically, because I found that more enjoyable. Tails, fangs, ability to Actually smell Fear, etc. 
> 
> I listened to Midnight City by M83 (Trentemoller remix) a lot while writing this chapter in case y’all want a music suggestion while you read this. 
> 
> Comments are moderated because I don’t want trans people to see something potentially transphobic. Otherwise, comments are welcome and appreciated (kudos are too).

Life is like an endless night. He figured that’s what his mother had slurred, eyes puffy and red. A few empty bottles and the scratchy smell of her cigarettes shrouded her. She always clung to him on nights like these (anniversaries, she called them), and tonight was no different. She made him sit on her lap, something he would enjoy in other circumstances, and pulled him close, leaning back into the couch. Her fingers tangled in his hair. He kept still. 

“Promise me you’ll never die,” she sighed. But he can’t. She had said so herself everyone dies. He frowned, then wiggled away to look at her and ask, but her eyes were closed. 

“Mommy?”

No response. Was she asleep? He placed a hand on her cheek. Nothing. He settled back down into her arms again and followed her.

**1 year later**

The boy fell to the sidewalk as if in slow motion, a hand shooting out to catch himself that made Bra flinch. And then, a loud snap.

“Why did you land like that?!” Didn’t he know how to fall?! The boy continued to blink slowly in confusion before lifting his arm slowly to reveal his wrist, bone straining unnaturally against the skin. The boy’s face crumpled and he sucked in a ragged breath before wailing - loudly. 

He snapped his head in his mother's direction to see her running towards them. And another lady. Probably the boy’s mom. He cringed. 

“Bra! What did I tell you,” his mother screamed. Not to hit anyone. But he hadn't! 

"I didn't hit him!" A light shove wasn't a hit. Right? Right.

The boy’s mother reached them first, scooping up her kid and backing away from him with a glare. The movement jostled the air around them and he caught a familiar scent emanating off him that he had previously been distracted from noticing. Sour but not nauseatingly so. Sharp. Refreshing. It sent a shiver down his spine and he took a deep breath, flooding his lungs with it. He took a step towards them and the woman took a few back. Her chin trembled and her grip on her child tightened. The smell grew stronger.

“Teach your girl some self-control,” she shouted and his anger flared again. The suddenness of his mother's perfume was his only warning before a hand snatched his tail and lifted him into the air, all before he could respond. The pain came in searing waves along his spine and traveled like a shock to his muscles, bones, skin, even his teeth. Within seconds the pain dulled to a burn and he went limp, lightheaded and stunned. Minutes passed and eventually the ground began to blur, or rather, his mom began to walk. 

From concrete to tiles to carpet she carried him, before placing him on his downy bed. By the time he recovered, he faced crossed arms and furrowed brows.

“ _What happened,_ ” she hissed. He raised his chin and crossed his own arms.

“He wouldn’t leave me alone! He kept calling me a girl!” 

“This _again? "_ She ran a hand through her hair and it stayed there. Blew out a long breath through pursed lips. “Bra. You are a girl-” 

“I _told_ you, I’m _not!_ I’m a _boy."_

“Bra.” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “Why? Why do you want to be a boy?” 

“I _am_ a boy.” There was no _want!_

“But why?” He paused. Because he was. Because he was her son.

“When I grow up, I will be a man.” 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Outside the sounds of traffic continued. 

“Alright, Bra. We’re gonna try it your way for 6 months. I will treat you like a boy, you will dress like a boy, I’ll even call you… Trunks! A boy’s name.” He nodded excitedly, getting up and bouncing on the bed, his smile almost painful. Trunks! Trunks!! “If by the end of 6 months you still like this… you will remain a boy to me.” 

“But Trunks,” his mom grabbed his chin, stopping his jumping, and looked him in the eye. His smile fell. “You can’t hit people.” 

“I barely touched him! He shouldn’t have stuck his arm out! _He_ fell the wrong way!” He had just shoved the other boy’s chest a little. It certainly wasn't enough to fall over! 

“I don’t care what you did! I have to pay for someone else’s medical bills _again!_ And don’t start with how he fell, not every kid is _like_ you! Just...” Another sigh. “Don’t push anyone, don’t hit anyone, don’t kick anyone. Don’t tap them, don’t poke them, in fact, keep your hands and feet to yourself. And elbows. And knees. Don’t touch anyone.” He nodded. That sounded difficult. But he’d try. For mommy. 

She brushed his hair back, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. 

“At least until you learn how to control your strength,” she muttered. She leaned down and pressed her forehead against his. “I love you, Bra. Trunks.” 

“I love you too, mommy.” A few moments passed and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Can I get a haircut?” 

She laughed.

**5 years later**

"You should go outside more. Make some friends."

His mother's words lingered in his head all day. They were louder when Trunks lied in his cold soft bed at night, the window above him open to hear the outside world just a touch better. The sounds of cars driving past. Dogs barking. The occasional strains of music from a party blocks away. The chatter of friends laughing at jokes only they knew. He hugged his pillow closer and buried his face in it.

He never had a friend in all his 8 years of life. Wasn’t even sure how to make one. Nothing he said was ever enough and he didn't know how to keep them interested when he couldn't play with them.

Not that he had much chance to anymore. He hadn’t hurt another kid in years now, on purpose or on accident, yet parents remained wary of him. And now his mother wanted him to try again.

His heart clenched as he remembered his previous attempts. He had thought it would be easier with the new kids, as the past few years brought in several waves of refugees. If he was lucky to interact with a kid whose parents hadn't heard about his past, then it was just a matter of time before they didn't want to talk to him anymore. His last attempt was months ago. They had wanted to play tag and, of course, he couldn't. He watched friendships form while he sat on the sidelines.

The next morning, after he had finished the homework his tutor had assigned, he set outside. He had no plan besides walking around and hoping someone, anyone, would speak to him. He didn't attempt to approach anyone, too scared to see someone's interest in him fade right before his eyes again.

Being out on the streets was refreshing at least. Trunks always felt better with movement, something he thought was probably connected to his athletic abilities and strength.

Kids ran past him, lost in their games. Tired grown ups glanced over him. He didn't stray far from Capsule Corp, heading northwest to what he realized was the business district. He spent several hours there, watching grim-looking adults in suits passing him. His mother had mentioned something about people not buying as much as they used to. She blamed the androids, but he wasn't quite sure what the connection was. She didn't explain.

No one spoke to him though it was clear they wondered what a child was doing there by himself. He didn't mind the lack of interaction though; he didn't expect any from these types of adults.

After that, he explored West City every day. He came to know its streets and buildings as well as his own house. From the business district to the art district, from the wealthiest areas to the poorest. No one ever started a real conversation with him, but some had come to greet him as he passed by. Some days that was enough. Some days questions crowded his head and heart.

Was he not worth getting to know? Why did no one want to be his friend? Just one would have been enough. He would be so happy to have just one.

At least his mother had stopped looking so worried about him.

One day, months into the habit, he was strolling down Samui Lane. It was a breezy spring day. He had headed south, wanting to get away from the bright yellow building he called home. The farther he was, the smaller and plainer the houses were. Eventually, he would reach the most unimpressive neighborhoods in West City, where the poor and refugees lived. He had seen many already, all with an air of exhaustion to them. Some, mostly young men and women, held a sharp glint in their eyes, their mouths set and hard. There was something about them that he couldn't help but think was cool. Hopefully, he could look that cool someday.

He's loitering around the neighborhood corner store, thinking about buying a bento and hoping the owner would give him a free candy with it (as she occasionally did), when he heard a sudden shriek. He spun in its direction.

A block away a darkly dressed man was tugging at a woman's bag, his body tensed to sprint down a nearby alleyway. As soon as she dropped it, the man ran. Trunks grinned. Then, he was off. He caught up to him a few seconds later and pounced onto his back. The man went down with a satisfyingly heavy thud and groan, Trunks wresting the purse from his grasp with one hand, the other holding the man's head firmly on the cement. It was over before the man could even try to buck him off. He got up, a wide smile stretching his face. That was fun. The man was getting on his feet, an open palm raising then sweeping towards him, but he brushed it off with a flick of his wrist. He took a step towards him and the man startled back, his eyes widening. An arousing scent he now knew was fear hit his nose and he suddenly wondered if he was gentle enough. His grin dropped. He shouldn't touch him again. But he couldn't just let him go. His problem was solved for him when he heard the heavy weight of boots fast approaching.

"Freeze," a gruff voice shouted. A few feet away a portly police officer pointed a gun at the robber. He slipped away silently.

He found the woman easily, her bright red hair impossible to miss. She had walked past him earlier, in and out of the corner store. She wore a white embroidered long sleeve shirt rolled up to her elbows and some thick warm looking pants. Her face was a bit sweaty, but her brown eyes betrayed nothing.

“You didn’t need to get this,” she said. Her eyes lingered on his purple tail, something most people had gotten used to by now. She must be new. “There wasn’t anything valuable in there anyway.” He shook his head.

The smell of beef, onion, and cheese floated from a nearby house. His mouth watered a little. He never did get that bento...

“I’ve just made some food if you would like to have some.” His eyes snapped from the open kitchen window to hers again. A tiny smile curved her lips. No one had ever invited him inside anywhere before. He grinned at her and it grew a touch wider.

“I would.” She led the way to a side door and they stepped into her kitchen - a small room with white tiled floors, white cabinets, and yellow countertops. A wooden dining table was at the farthest corner. Boxes lay around the floor and a couple on the table, along with a plate of cooling pastries. She moved the boxes to a nearby counter and gestured for him to sit at the table, pushing the plate closer to him with a finger.

“They have cabbage and egg in them, try it.” He grabbed one, the smell of butter making him smile. He sank his teeth in and closed his eyes happily. It was warm, savory, and far more delicious than a bento. He devoured it quickly and looked at her expectantly. She gave him another tiny smile.

“Eat as many as you wish. I have something else in the oven for you to eat, so keep that in mind.” He ate 3 more.

"So where are you from," he asked. He immediately regretted it (his mother had told him to be sensitive about asking questions like that), unsure if it was appropriate when she answered.

“I just moved here from the north a week ago.” The only thing he knew about the north was that it was cold.

“Did it snow a lot?”

“It only ever snowed.”

He tried to imagine that. A frozen white town. Strange.

“How are you liking West City?”

“It's the warmest place I’ve been to. These are the lightest clothes I’ve got.” A pause. “My cousin, Shinseki, says he will take me shopping next paycheck.”

“Where does he live?”

“This is his house. I live with him now.” He nodded. His fists clenched as his mind raced to find something else to say. He'd never gotten this far with someone.

“Where do you live,” she asked. “Where are your parents?”

He sighed in relief and smiled.

“I live in Capsule Corp,” he said, sitting up straight. “My mother is Dr. Bulma Briefs.” She startled and stared at him with raised eyebrows.

“For real kid, where do you live?”

“Capsule Corp,” he repeated. He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out his id, flashing it at her. His mother had changed his name over two years ago, but he still loved showing it to anyone he could. She looked it over.

“Trunks Brief, huh?”

“That’s my name,” he chirped. "Yours?"

"Suno."

Another pause. Her eyes slid to his tail again. It twitched under her stare. He flicked it out of sight.

The oven dinged and she spun around without a word. The savory smell of pork, cheese, and a hint of tomatoes filled the kitchen. He barely sat still while she sliced the roasted pork, taking some bottle out of her bag and sprinkling some herb onto the dish. She took a container out of the fridge and ladled some potato salad onto a plate with sliced pork. She ended up giving him three full plates and he laughed.

“I don't need three plates!”

“Oh!” She blinked at him in confusion. “Sorry, I thought…” She placed the third plate to the side and grabbed a fork for herself before she finished her sentence.

“You looked like you could eat a lot.” His mom said something similar a while ago.

“My mom says something like that too.” He took a bite of the pork and kicked his feet happily. Everything was delicious, just the right amount of cheesy and juicy and soft. 

“Does she?”

“Yeah,” he said after swallowing because he was a polite boy that was taught manners. A comfortable silence descended between them while they ate and far too soon he was done with his plate. She handed him the other plate with a wink and he decided he liked her a lot.

When he was halfway through his second plate, his attention finally began to wander away from his food. A few feet away from him, an open cardboard box lay on the floor. At the top, a framed photo of her and a smiling little boy.

“That was my son,” she murmured. He nodded, but she wasn't looking at him. She didn't need to say what happened, her sudden stiffness said enough. There weren’t many people alive that hadn’t lost someone to the androids. She cleared her throat.

"When I was a kid, there was something called the Red Ribbon Army. One of their generals built a base near our village and terrorized us. One day I found a boy with a tail like yours, half-frozen in the snow. He was the strongest and fastest person I'd ever met and, I assumed, ever would meet. He beat them out of our town and freed us. A few months later our village received word of the defeat of the dreaded Red Ribbon Army and I just know he was the one to take it down. He was a hero.” Her eyes searched his, a small furrow between her brows. “You remind me of him in more ways than one.”

Could it be? He set down his fork, it having frozen midway to his mouth somewhere during her story. Strong, fast, a _tail?_ Who else would it be?! His heart beat wildly at the idea of _his_ father saving her town. Did she think so too? 

“I suppose he’s gone now. But don’t feel…” She trailed off, staring again at the photo of her son. She flinched suddenly and her next words were a quiet moan. 

“Children shouldn’t have to be heroes.” 

*

When he got home a few hours later, he found his mom relaxing on the couch, still in her lab coat, the smell of metal and oil radiating off of her. He told her about Suno, her food, and the story she shared, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. 

She closed her eyes halfway through the story, a small smile on her lips. 

“Goku was unstoppable back then,” she sighed. 

“You know him?!” More evidence! His heart beat so hard he had to sit down. 

“Yes, I knew him.” 

“Was he…? Was he my...” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t get the word out, as grand as it was. It stuck in his throat.

Her eyes snapped open, smile faltering. She brushed his hair back gently, a thumb brushing against his temple, and shook her head. 

The hope that had swelled so dangerously, so foolishly, popped in his chest and he was embarrassed to find his eyes and throat stung so suddenly. He bit his lip hard, forcing it away.

“No. Your father was doing other things. Far away from Suno’s village.”

“Like what,” he begged. “How do you know where he was? How can you be so sure?!"

She hesitated, then shook her head firmly. 

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

He stared at her, speechless. She really wouldn’t tell him _anything_ about his father? 

“Tell me at least one thing. Anything! Anything at all!” 

She fell back against the couch, an arm reaching up to lay across her face and cover her eyes. Silence. Again! He rose, angry, ready to just go to his room and ignore her back for the rest of the week. He’d bother her more if he didn’t know how stubborn she was. It was all just a waste of time. She kept so many secrets! He’s heard more about the grocery store cashier than his own father!

“You take after him far more than you do me.” He spun around, startled. She remained still as if she hadn’t spoken. 

“I do?” 

“Yes.” 

“In what way?” Another pause. 

“You look so much like him. You have my hair and eye color, but that’s it. The rest is entirely him.” 

The warmth that had come before with Suno’s story filled him again, as fragile as a bubble. He’ll look in a mirror later. He sat back down slowly, hoping she wouldn’t decide to stop at the sight of him settling in. 

“What was his name?” He’d wanted to know that for ages now. 

“Vegeta.” 

“Not Goku?” She shook her head. 

“Not Goku. He had his own wife and children.” He was tempted to ask about them but who knew how many questions his mother would answer? He moved on. 

"And where are they both now?"

"Vegeta died because of the androids." He nodded. That was what he had guessed. Everything horrible always seemed to boil down to them. "Goku died in the heart virus epidemic a few months after you were born."

"Is that the one we manufacture medicine for?" Capsule Corp only produced one medication and he was sure it was for some heart thing.

She nodded. He bit his lip. His thoughts returned to Goku's family. They were like him, he knew it. They had to be. 

"And... what about his family?"

She shook her head. 

“That’s enough questions.” His heart dropped. 

“But we just started -”

“Trunks… please.” 

He let it go, silenced by her weak voice. He sat for a while longer, unsure and silent while she stared at the opposing wall. Eventually, he stood up, excused himself awkwardly, and headed to the nearest bathroom. 

He took off his shoes and climbed on top of the wide counter, sitting cross-legged in front of the mirror. He studied himself with a new eye, determined to see _him._ His tan skin. The slope of his forehead. His thick arched brows. The length of his lashes. The angle of his nose. The curve of his cheeks. His full lips. He gave his proudest, warmest smile to the mirror, as he imagined a father would give his son. 

Forced and out of place was the kindest way to describe it. He dropped it. His face formed a natural scowl. Was that too from his father? 

Eventually, he grew bored and frustrated. He jumped off the counter and headed to his room, hoping Suno wouldn't be annoyed if he went back tomorrow for more stories about this Goku figure.

**2 years later**

For his 10th birthday, he didn’t get any presents.

“I want to conserve money,” his mom said. 

“We’re rich,” he replied. She shot him a stern look, marred ineffective by her fidgeting. 

He wasn’t dumb. He knew why she was nervous. It was the androids. Just last month they started attacking towns again after an eight year break to go kill farmers… and whoever else lived in rural areas. Why they didn’t continue destroying cities after the infamous attack on South City, he didn’t know. What he _did_ know was that there was now a world wide food shortage due to their little “break.” Perhaps the androids wanted to add starvation to their methods of slaughter. 

“Are you planning something?” Trunks couldn't help but notice she was holding something behind her back. 

“We need to talk.” Well, obviously. She ordered him to sit on his bed, taking a seat next to him. She revealed her hidden object: a thick brown leather book. The pages looked strange though…. Wait. Was that a - ?

“I guess this photo album can be your present if you want,” she murmured, and his head snapped up to look at her, “heaven knows I don’t want to look at it anymore.” There was no time to process his excitement before she continued. “I put all the photos in an order I thought would be most convenient.” She tapped a finger decidedly against the cover before opening it quickly. He gasped. 

The first page was filled with photos of a small boy dressed in gi with the wildest hair he’d ever seen. But that wasn’t why Trunks gasped. A brown furry tail was visible in every photo and he knew instantly it was the boy that saved Suno’s village. Goku. 

She talked about him freely now. Her first ever friend. Questions about their shared tail faded to the back of his mind as she reminisced about her long dead hero of a best friend. A quest for 7 orange mystical spheres, dragon balls, that would grant any wish asked of it. How he wiped out the Red Ribbon Army single-handedly, defeated Piccolo Daimao, and a few years later his successor, Piccolo Jr. Goku was a hero; the strongest man that ever lived. His mother’s admiration rang throughout her tale and he was struck with how much she missed him. How well she hid it. 

Throughout the apparent adventures of Son Goku, she pointed out their shared friends. Other pages contained individual and group photos: all men, all muscular, and usually in gis or other athletic wear. 

There was Krillin, a short, bald guy with six marks on his head. He “kept her sane” until he died. She didn’t elaborate. He was funny, kind, and selfless. His smile was the widest next to Goku’s. 

Next was Yamcha, a handsome man with dark wavy hair and a scarred face. Trunks suffered through a half hour long rant on infidelity, but when they arrived at the last picture taken of him, a nervous-looking Yamcha holding Trunks’ baby self in his lap, she fell silent and stroked the lines of his face. 

Then there was Tenshinhan and Chiaozu…. She didn’t have a lot to say about them. They were psychic. They were always together. Tenshinhan was a tall, bald, handsome man with a third eye on his forehead. Chiaozu, in comparison, looked like a doll. A clown doll. Or maybe a mime doll. Trunks was not quite sure what species this Chiaozu was. 

His mother slowed towards the end as she reached a photo of an adult Goku with a pretty woman. Her voice had the slightest tremble to it as she talked about Goku’s wife, Chi Chi. They had been pregnant together and bonded a lot that last year. Trunks placed a hand over hers. She cleared her throat forcefully and moved on to the next page.

It held many photos of the same young boy, but it was a picture placed in the center that caught his attention. A boy with dark wild hair, but not as wild as Goku’s, caught mid-laugh and holding him securely in his arms. Trunks’ purple tail was wrapped loosely around the boy’s arm. He looked much less terrified of his baby self than Yamcha had.

“And this was Gohan. Goku and Chi Chi’s son. He was a polite boy like his mother and strong like his father. Smart kid, too. Had a lot of potential. And he was kind. Always kind.” His mother paused. A long silence grew as she stared at the page. For the first time since she had started, her eyes were glossy. 

“So,” he said softly, “what… what happened to them?” Probably dead as everyone else seemed to be, but she hadn’t mentioned it yet. Not like she had the others - almost immediately. 

“I don’t know. I looked for them but their house was in ruins. So was every village within 100 kilometers. I haven’t heard from them once. I looked every year until your grandparents died, and then I couldn’t because there was no one to babysit.” Oh. A single tear slid slowly down his mother’s cheek and she wiped it away roughly. “I assume they’re dead.” He squeezed her hand softly and she squeezed back briefly before she took a deep breath and shook her head slightly. 

"Right. Well, time to backtrack. Goku was always an impressive warrior, but we had no idea just _how much_ he outclassed everyone, until... one day a... _visitor_ revealed the truth. Raditz. Goku’s brother. He came to earth, yes, you heard right, came to earth. Goku and Raditz were part of a powerful, yet extinct, alien warrior race called saiyans.” 

Never, in his wildest dreams, could he have guessed that. It was ridiculous. It was the most insane thing she had ever said. But his mother _never_ lied to him. Only hid. 

And... it made sense. Tails. Inhuman strength. Agility. Heightened senses. His innate physicality. Even now, _as much_ as he could control himself, _years_ since he last hurt someone, his heart still quickened at the mere thought of violence. 

“Needless to say, your father was saiyan as well.” He nodded, barely listening. 

Saiyan. 

Half saiyan. 

He was saiyan. Everyone else in his species was dead. _He_ was the last of a powerful warrior race. The world shifted and began to crumble into place, heavy, bleak, and lonely. All those crazy daydreams of defeating the androids, ones everyone shared, now had a real glimmer of possibility. If such a thing like destiny existed, it was his to destroy the androids. Everyone else, _humans,_ could not stand a chance. Had never had a chance. It had to be him. 

It was too quiet. 

He looked up at his mother’s concerned face and panicked. He blurted out a question, didn’t want her to think she had to stop. She couldn’t! All this, yet it appeared they had barely started.

"What happened to Raditz?" 

“He died,” she said shortly. He blinked. Before he could ask why, she hurriedly moved on to a planet named Namek, where the sky was green, the grass was blue, and an evil alien overlord tried to kill them all. 

She had a spread of selfies that, despite everything, made him smile a little. Against the teal grass. With a startled and small antennaed green being she called a Namekian. His favorite one was her with a dragon ball - orange with 4 red stars and bigger than her skull. 

“I spent a lot of time by myself there while Krillin and Gohan fought battles. And that planet is, um, also where I saw your father for the first time.” With an excited gasp, the dark weight of his future lifted, at least for the moment. 

“What was he doing when you first met? Or what were _you_ doing? What were his first words to you?” 

“He was on a very important mission with Krillin and Gohan. We didn’t actually speak to one another until we were both back on Earth.” 

“How come you didn’t go along with Krillin and Gohan and dad?” She shook her head softly. 

“They could fly - ” FLY? Oh, he _had_ to learn that, “- shoot energy from their hands - ” that too, “- and a bunch of other stuff. I couldn’t keep up with them. I’d probably have gotten in the way more than anything else.” 

“What stuff?” She looked at him apologetically. 

“I don’t know Trunks, I wasn’t usually there when they fought.” Damn. Well, hopefully learning how to fly and shoot things from his hands would be enough for his eventual fight with the androids. He had a lot to catch up on… His thoughts were interrupted once again when his mother arrived at the last page. 

“And this is your father. He was the third to die.” 

A sole picture. His father. He knew it instantly, she didn’t even need to say it. He was mid-stride and clearly unaware of the nearby camera. Shirtless and lean and not as large as Goku. He had a white towel thrown casually over a shoulder. He wore black… leggings? And white boots. Wrapped around his father’s waist was a furry dark brown tail. At first he assumed it was a belt, then realized that was possibly the dumbest thing he’d ever thought. His purple tail twitched. It was an unnatural way to hold it, but his father probably knew best. Trunks wrapped his own snug around his waist. His father’s expression was fierce, glaring at a point somewhere to the right of the camera. He must have been mad. Or perhaps he always looked like that. His mom said he had his face once, years ago, and people sometimes called him serious or angry looking. 

“Is this the only photo of him? Why aren’t there more?” After all, it was his _father._

“It was hard enough to get this, uh, _candid_ photo already. Be grateful I even got one,” she chided softly. “I got it just after he left this workout chamber we had built for him - since torn down for scraps. He liked to train in it.” 

Train. His blood froze. Something he didn’t even _think_ about having to do. 

“Ouch, Trunks,” his mother cried, trying to jerk out of his grip. He unclenched his fists immediately with a gasp. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

She shook her head, placing the hand he’d almost crushed on his shoulder and tightening her grip when he cringed.

“Are you ok?” Trunks nodded hurriedly, wondering how she could ask that when _he_ was the one who hurt her. 

“It’s alright Trunks, see?” She flexed her hand. A small crack sounded from it and his heart fell. She laughed nervously. “Um, do you have any questions for me about your father?” He didn’t respond. She shook his shoulder. “Trunks?”

“What was he like,” he mumbled. She shifted. 

“He was a very proud man. No one… ever seemed to understand him. Never wanted to try. Not that he would let them. But I thought he was a better man than even he imagined himself to be.” 

“What was it that made you like him?”

“He was determined. Ambitious. Persistent and focused. He was smart too. He wasn’t skilled with engineering like I was, but he had a strong memory and learned quickly.” She laughed softly, her faraway gaze locked onto him in her memories. “Sometimes I would ask questions to myself out loud and he would answer with something so simple and logical, I wanted to sit with him and imagine that, together, we could answer every question the universe had to offer.” Her eyes became wet again, but no tears fell. She sniffed. “He was handsome too.” Her gaze returned back to him and she smiled warmly. “It’s how I know you’ll be a looker as well. You look more like him every year.” 

Trunks preened. 

“How long were the two of you together?”

“Well, we never got married. Nor were we really, hmm, _settled_ with each other. We were both too independent at that time, and I can’t really say we _were_ together.” He nodded slowly. It _was_ hard to imagine her with someone. 

A silence fell upon them as he tried to absorb all the new information. Of his mother’s life. Of his true heritage. Of his father. Of what _had_ to be his destiny. _Kami,_ she’d been holding out on him. 

“Did you say I could keep this,” he asked, holding a corner of the album. She nodded. 

“I’m sorry it took so long to tell you about… everything. It’s hard to talk about and I’ve never been good at having difficult conversations.”

He looked up at her, his heart achingly soft. He forgave her instantly then, forgave the years of silence and secrecy. 

“It’s ok,” he said. And it was. 

Then his stomach growled and the mood broke. His mother patted his knee and stood up. Checked her watch. 

“Shit, it’s been 3 hours. I meant to make you breakfast... I’ll just make you lunch.” She walked out of the room briskly, muttering to herself. 

The rest of the day passed in a daze. He framed his two favorite photos on his bookshelf. His father, obviously, and his mother with the Namekian dragon ball. He also found the exact spot his father had been when the photo was taken. Stood there and closed his eyes and tried to feel his presence. But there was nothing and he just felt silly after a few minutes. After all, his father had lived in the same house for years and there was no trace of him left. 

Later, he received a small cake from Suno and a free bento from the nearby corner store. Overall, not the _worst_ birthday.

That night, he crawled into bed with a plan. Tomorrow he would tackle flight. He didn’t care how long it took. By his 11th birthday, he had to have mastered it. His mother came in and sat on his bed. She smiled at the framed photos. He smiled at her, content. No major secrets anymore. Everything was out in the open. 

“Oh, by the way, forgot to mention earlier, your father was the prince of his entire race.” 

**4 years later**

She was talking about rations. How saiyan appetites only ever increased in size. He ignored her. He could hunt for food, no problem. He could take down one of the bigger dinos left and that could last him a couple weeks at least. 

…

Maybe he should listen. 

“- tons of food stocked, a habit I didn’t break since your father died. But you can’t tell anyone, Trunks!” She tapped her hands nervously against the steering wheel. “I just wish I could know for sure if your appetite will become as large as his. I don’t like hoarding so much food while the world is starving. But I will be selfish for you.” 

He looked away, to the long dreary expanse of orange dusty rock. _Selfish._ The word needled its way into a familiar, yet ever increasing restlessness. He’ll make up for it one day. 

“I will not watch my son die. I still remember how weak Goku was as a growing kid if he didn’t eat as much as he needed to. I never want to see you like that.” She sounded quite determined. 

A couple minutes later, she turned on the radio. A sad (overplayed) pop song blasted from the stereo and he rolled his eyes. He turned the knob. Sad. Sad. Stupid. Sad. Then he came across a recording of a woman’s carefully controlled voice. 

“- citizens to evacuate to the surrounding area. Use judgement and caution before proceeding.” It repeated. “Paprikaberg is under attack by the Cyborgs 17 and 18. Do not approach. Paprikaberg citizens to remain indoors or evacuate to the surrounding area. Use judgement and caution before proceeding.” 

Paprikaberg…. They just left Paprikaberg! A potent mixture of excitement and anger boiled his blood. They’ve _never_ been this close before! Now was his chance to do something! If he couldn’t defeat the androids then he could at least distract them enough to spare people time to escape! 

Without realizing, he had levitated a few centimeters and the seatbelt dug into his throat, choking him down again. 

His mother noticed. She increased acceleration and then they were flying down the road as fast as the car could go. 

“Don’t you _dare_ go, Trunks,” she commanded. 

How simple it was to be a better son. But how could he do nothing when reality was so close? How could he live with the shame? The guilt? Those were the people that killed his father. Left his mother all alone. Killed Suno’s family and countless others! There was really no choice at all. He unbuckled his seat belt. 

“TRUNKS,” she shrieked, her hand darting out to grab him. But he had risen dozens of meters in the air already and was flying straight to Paprikaberg.

He soared over the speeding, honking, vehicles of lucky people and some not so lucky people fleeing on foot. A blast emanated from deep in the town and the lone skyscraper of Paprikaberg came crashing down. Screams sounded, but he found it was worse when they _stopped._ He flew faster and within seconds reached the city limits. 

He slowed down once he was close to the center of action. All around him was ash. Debris. Shattered concrete, demolished buildings, and the occasional body he refused to look at for too long. He was able to ignore it for the most part, exposed to too many similar scenes on television screens for years. It was the smell that sickened him. The sharp scent of fear permeated the city, mixing itself with smoke, metal, and blood. 

Trunks landed on a rooftop and creeped slowly to the top to assess the situation. A wave of apprehension filled him. Questions he should have asked himself before flying all the way over here beat in his head, namely: what was he going to do? He shoved those feelings away. He’d already made his decision. It was best to assess the situation before he did anything truly rash. He peeked over the ledge and found _them_ instantly. 

Androids 17 and 18. His black hair and her blonde gleamed equally bright under the shining sun. The infamous beautiful twin monsters. They seemed to be taking a break among the ashes, chatting softly to one another. A bloodied dusty body lay unmoving among the rubble just a meter away from 17. He swallowed hard and looked around for any potential survivors. 

There were quite a few still bodies.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. A crouched figure on a roof in the distance, watching the cyborgs intensely. He wore a bright orange gi and had jet black hair. He looked fairly muscled - something Trunks hadn’t seen on anyone else since people were properly fed. There was something predatory in his movements as the man silently inched closer to the androids. 

Trunks glanced between the man and the androids, suddenly unsure which one he should be watching. 

The man turned his head. Trunks froze as their eyes met. And then the strangest thing happened. His face contorted to a look of pure horror, as if _Trunks_ was the scariest thing he’d ever seen. A second passed and the man disappeared. Trunks blinked. 

A sharp pain to the back of his head. Then, nothing. 

*

Trunks woke up on cold concrete to find three grimy teenagers whispering over him. He blearily turned out his empty pockets, too annoyed to say anything. They left quickly after that. He sat up and looked around. 

He was back in West City, lying in a dark alley by Monokai Boulevard. He checked his watch. Only 40 minutes had passed since he was with his mother in the car. He stood up and walked out, brushing off dirt from his clothes. He nodded at a couple of staring construction workers with a smile that felt more like a grimace. 

_Who_ was that man? Trunks assumed _he_ was why he was back in West City. Why was he there? Why would he leave him in an alley? No, why West City _specifically?_ If he guessed where Trunks lived, he was very lucky. And why did he look so scared of _him_ and not the fucking monsters below them? 

And the androids! He didn’t even get that _close_ to them! His cheeks heated as he walked home, glaring at the concrete. He wasn’t able to do anything at all! He just showed up and got knocked out! What even knocked him out? A falling rock or something? He groaned. The closest they’d ever been to him in 14 years and he hadn’t been able to do _anything._

Trunks froze. 

And just _what_ was he going to say to his mother?


	2. I thought, Oh God, my chance has come at last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be uploaded earlier this week but Hurricane Laura was too close for comfort and I couldn't write. Ended up not getting a drop of rain. 
> 
> Chapter title from There Is a Light That Never Goes Out - The Smiths
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Trunks walked back to his house briskly. His mother should still be asleep, but he ought to sneak in through his bedroom window anyway. It was a ridiculously cold early October morning; a record breaking freak blizzard quickly closing in on Region 28. So of course he had snuck out of the house right before it would trap him inside for a few days. His mother may have grounded him, and semi deafened him with her screaming, but he could only hold to it for so long. 

The first day of his grounding - the rest of _that_ day, Trunks had kept his word. Didn’t even look out his bedroom window. The second day he called Suno to tell her that he couldn’t see her this week and sat around wondering if she was feeling homesick with all this snow. He had stared at his ceiling for hours, his loneliness wrapping around him like a familiar smotheringly heavy blanket. Sure he had no real friends, but at least he could go out and see people and _pretend_ that was enough. Suno didn’t count. She was something of a second mother now. Finally, on the third day, Trunks had snuck out in the early hours of the morning for a small walk. 

He’d never really experienced snow before, besides the occasional light dustings of it every other winter. The streets were empty and there was a peaceful silence to the city that Trunks found himself delighting in, even as he was hurrying back to his house. It was _cold_ and even that was an experience. He was _never_ cold or hot. He happily chalked it up to his saiyan genetics. His mother rarely got up before 10 am, but if she _was_ waiting right there in his room for him to return, all he could say was: worth it. 

Trunks turned the corner onto his street. He glanced at the figures in the distance, sparing nothing more than a vague thought for whoever else was desperate enough to leave shelter with a little less than half a meter of snow on the ground (and more falling steadily from the sky). He hopped over the Capsule Corp gate to find his mother standing at the entrance, hands on her hips, glare in her eyes, and covered from head to toe in various fabrics. Trunks was gearing up for another earful when a deep, masculine voice sounded behind him. 

“Bulma.”

Trunks startled and spun around to face the voice. The figures from before were in their front yard. He glanced at the gate - still locked and free from damage. He stood in front of his mother, sizing them up. He was much stronger than humans, he could probably - !

“Gohan,” his mother breathed, a borderline whimper. _What?_ Like Goku’s kid that went missing??

His mother’s face confirmed it, wide eyed and gasping. Trunks dropped his stance and took them in. The taller one was clearly Gohan. He realized with a shock that _this_ was the man he had seen on the rooftop. Who else could it have been? Gohan stood tall and dignified. His shoulders were the broadest he’d ever seen on a person. His hair was wild, like the pictures he’d seen of Goku’s. Jagged spikes stuck out unlike anything a human had - at least not without copious amounts of hair gel. Yet it blew in the cold wind as free as his own. His face was scarred, a long, irritated pink line that ran painfully from his forehead across his left eye to his jaw. It stood out against his pale skin. So much so, that it was another moment before he realized Gohan wasn’t dressed at all for the blizzard - a ragged looking green sweater, jeans, and severely worn down shoes making him a pitiful sight. The child next to him looked much warmer. Their face was hidden underneath the hood of an oversized red jacket and a wooly blue scarf. _Now_ he noticed their dark brown tails. Gohan’s wrapped around his waist and the other’s slack and curled so it hovered just above the ground. They were holding hands.

His study is interrupted by his mother throwing herself around Gohan. 

“Gohan! I thought you were dead! I thought you and Chi Chi and the baby were _dead!”_ His mother sobbed openly, a sight he hadn’t seen since he was a toddler. Gohan patted her back with one hand stiffly, the other still holding the child’s hand. He murmured apologies to her like they were shards of glass he had to tear from his throat. Unwilling and stoic, yet laced with some excruciating suffering only he knew. 

Trunks stood there awkwardly. Should he go inside? He felt like an intruder, lurking on an intimate scene he had no business in. His mother decided for him.

“Let’s all go inside,” she sniffled. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

She ushered them all inside and his mom immediately ordered him into the kitchen to make hot chocolate. He left eagerly, mind whirring. At the very least, he had escaped a lecture on grounding. His thoughts lingered on the man’s broad figure and dead eyes. Their tails. Their clasped hands. He should make them something good. Over the years food had decreased in quality and now packaged hot chocolate tasted more like hot milk with only a hint of sugar and cocoa. He supposed it was better than just plain hot milk, but he dug through their pantry anyway, determined to make it better. He found a small chocolate bar, something he had been saving for a bad day. He melted it and dumped it into a large cup of hot chocolate and stirred for a bit. Took a fresh spoon and sipped it. Much sweeter than what he had for himself and his mother. He got two mugs and poured the superior hot chocolate into each of them and added a few extra marshmallows. When he walked into the living room carrying a tray of four mugs, he found his mother on an armchair and their guests settled on the couch. His mother appeared to have wrapped them both with several thick blankets. The sight of a rugged grown man and - now that the child’s face wasn’t hidden - a decidedly boyish yet angelic looking kid that appeared his age swaddled by fluffy blankets made him snicker. Just a bit. His mother, meanwhile, sat stiff and upright in her pink flannel pajamas, like a queen surveying her subjects. Her tears had dried completely and only a slight redness gave any indication she had broken down just ten minutes ago. He set the tray down on the coffee table and shuffled awkwardly by her side. Should he be here? 

“Sit down, Trunks.” Ok, another decision made for him. Best not to get on her bad side more than he already had anyway. He sat down on an armchair, a mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. “This is Son Gohan,” his mother said, as if Trunks had not witnessed the scene outside. “And this is Son Goten,” she continued, gesturing at the child. “Gohan, Goten, this is my son, Trunks.” They exchanged greetings, a small murmuring really. The younger sibling wiggled a hand free from his blankets to reach for a cup. He couldn’t quite reach it and Trunks was about to help when a larger hand darted in, far quicker than his. Gohan placed the cup gently in his brother’s hands before taking one for himself. Goten’s dark eyes met his and Trunks looked away. His mother spoke again, her voice loud and commanding, but Trunks still caught a small hum of delight from Goten at the hot chocolate. His whole body seemed to warm at the sound. 

“Now, Gohan, what have you been doing the past 14 years?” A pause, then in a kinder voice, “If you want to tell us.” 

Gohan nodded, his face ever serious. 

“We were evading the androids - all of us. Me, my mother, and Goten. Moving from village to village. They seemed to be following me, at least half the time. Our mom died recently because of it.” His mother’s breath hitched. Gohan continued, voice flat and unwavering. “Which is why I don’t intend to stay here long. I really… just came to leave Goten here.” Goten’s head snapped to his brother’s direction, a sharp cry already on his lips. 

“What?! _No!”_ He, with a bizarre politeness, set his mug on the table (displacing multiple blankets), before clutching at his brother’s arm. “You will _NOT_ be leaving me behind!!” The high-pitched, anguished desperation in Goten’s voice was startling - and painful - to hear, a wildness disrupting his sweet face. Gohan brushed his brother’s hair back with a gentleness Trunks had never seen a man use before. Goten glared steadily, a distressed growl spilling between his gritted teeth. 

“They want me, not you - ”

“I _don’t_ care!” 

“Gohan, Goten,” his mother interrupted, a vaguely panicked look on her face, “let’s talk about this. You’re both _very_ welcome to stay here. In fact, I _want_ both of you to stay here.” Gohan looked at her like she was crazy. 

“If I stay here, I’m putting not only you and your _child_ in danger, but all of West City!” 

“If it is true that they are following you, then _nowhere_ you go will be safe. But I _want_ you to be here - with your brother! You are the children of my dearest friends, I love the both of you more than you can grasp. Let me take care of the _both_ of you.” Gohan made a protesting noise and his mother rushed to finish. “You would take care of Trunks if he lost me, wouldn’t you?” Neither said a word, Gohan gaping and Goten splitting his hopeful looks between Trunks’ mother and his brother. Trunks was wishing more and more that he had been dismissed. He took a sip of his hot chocolate. The longer the silence stretched, the more hurt he became. He tried not to take it personally. They didn’t _know_ each other. Eventually Gohan nodded weakly, defeated, and his mother continued. “Besides, think of the power in this room. West City has the potential to be the safest city in the world!” 

Gohan looked at Trunks, and he was shocked to find sorrow in his eyes. 

“We’ll talk about it more while we both make breakfast,” his mother decided, standing up suddenly. She took the last mug and tossed it back like it was a shot. “Tastes good, Trunks, thank you. You don’t mind helping me with breakfast, do you, Gohan? I’d appreciate it if you would.” Gohan shook his head, standing up slowly. Goten let go of his arm, now marked with red, and got on his feet as well. 

Both of their tails were loose now. Part of Trunks wanted to loosen his own, hidden underneath his large shirt and sweater. He decided against it. He didn’t _know_ them. He stood up reluctantly.

“I was really sure he was a girl for some reason,” his mother murmured, eyeing the younger brother. Goten cringed at the words before relaxing at his brother’s touch. 

“Yes, we all thought that at one point. And, um, Trunks?” 

“The same as Goten, apparently.” She patted his head and he shook her off. Gohan smiled kindly at him, the first one he had seen on the man. Trunks stared back. 

“I should’ve brought Goten years ago,” Gohan sighed, turning back to his mother. “They could have helped each other.” Helped each other? With what? 

“Is Goten on any puberty blockers or hormones?” Gohan shook his head. _Oh._ “I can get you started on that,” she said to Goten. “Would you like that?” 

“What is it?” 

“Oh, just something that will stop you from looking like a girl. It -”

“YES.” Gohan gave Goten a light slap on the shoulder. “Yes, ma’am, I would like to be on what you just said.” His mom laughed. 

“I’ll explain it a little more to your brother and give it to you after breakfast, does that sound good to you?” Goten nodded eagerly. “Ok, kids, go play.” 

His mom pushed him closer to Goten and he almost snapped at her. He was going to talk to him! He didn’t need her to literally push him into doing it! His mom was so annoying sometimes. Goten, for his part, gave a lingering, searching look at his brother before seemingly dropping the issue of his abandonment. He stepped forward, no push required.

“Hi,” Trunks mumbled. Goten smiled at him, a pretty, infectious thing that had the corners of his own lips lifting. His vision was great, but standing right in front of Goten was different. His big eyes were a deep black, glittering like obsidian. _Now_ he knew that saiyan hair (which he didn’t inherit, but Goten clearly _did_ ) looked the same texture his own, but thicker and spiky. He almost wanted to touch it, but that was weird so he dismissed the impulse quickly. The pink of his cheeks was fascinating. Cute. He really did look angelic, something endearingly sweet in the curves of his face. His wide eyes and long black lashes. That pretty, pretty smile, the tips of his fangs poking his bottom lip. He smelled good too, something subtle yet comforting. A little bit sweet. It’s not until Goten huffed a little that Trunks realized he had been staring for far too long. Shit. His face burned.

“Do you -” think, _think!_ “- want to… take a tour of the house? I think this is your new house anyway.” 

Goten’s smile returned and he nodded. 

Trunks started with the kitchen, his new companion following one step behind him. Something in his chest fluttered at the added presence and he was overly conscious of every word that passed his lips. He showed him through all three floors; the relevant rooms, the barren, dusty rooms, and the spacious gardens. Goten remained silent throughout it. He wondered what he was thinking. He wondered if they could be friends. He wondered if Goten was as physically gifted as he was. Probably, right? Same heritage. It was the easiest of his questions to find out. 

“Let’s play a game.” 

Goten agreed easily. Maybe he should start slow... Don’t want his mother yelling at him if he’s wrong. Or Gohan. Trunks walked back to the first floor garden. 

“We’ll race. That tree,” he pointed to a tree growing closest to the wall, “is the starting point and the finish line. One full lap around.” He paused, thinking. “We can go in the opposite direction so there’s more freedom in movement. But you have to stay close to the walls!” Goten grinned. Hm. He thought he was going to win. They walked over to the tree and stood back to back.

“On my mark. One. Two. Three!” And he was off, giving it all he had, dozens of meters gone in a second. He was shocked to find Goten closing in on the midpoint at the same time, and by the expression on his face, he was too. There wasn’t a thought in his head, the overwhelming shock and relief and _elation_ he felt at seeing Goten keep up with him washing them away like a burst dam, and it was perhaps that reason that made them crash right into each other, sending them both into the ground and knocking his breath out too. 

It _hurt._ Aching like nothing he’d ever experienced before. The pain was almost sweet, wonderful in a way that reminded him he was _alive._ His gasping breaths felt akin to a newborn’s firsts, the terrible and joyous weight of life flooding his arteries with each one. A laugh escaped him. In hindsight, maybe a race where they had to pass one another like that wasn’t practical. But he hadn’t been sure. Had half expected to zoom right past Goten. Instead he had slammed right into him. 

He froze. 

He slammed right into him! But while he was busy feeling _alive,_ Goten had apparently crawled over to where he lay spread eagled and before Trunks could sit up to check on him, his view of the ceiling was blocked by an excited boy. His grin contained more wattage than all the brilliant artificial lights above them.

Trunks smiled, a little delirious, a lot relieved, at Goten’s bright beam. 

“I didn’t think anyone was as fast as me or Gohan,” Goten cried.

“My father was saiyan too.” He gasped cutely and Trunks could practically see the stars in his eyes. 

“Gohan never told me there was another one of us!” His wide eyes got even bigger. “I really just thought you had large canines for a human,” he said seriously. Goten had noticed his teeth? His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden hug. 

It was short, a squeeze really, but the warmth of him through their clothes seeped through and made his heart so light, he felt as if he was floating. When Goten leaned back, his arms falling, he felt some insane urge to follow. 

“Uh,” he said, intelligently. His tail relaxed involuntarily from where it had been wrapped tightly around his waist. He let it poke out underneath the layers he wore. Goten spotted it immediately. 

“Your tail is purple! That’s so cool!! Do you know how to fly? Can you sense ki? Could you sense my brother’s fights?” Goten gasped. “Can you go _super saiyan?”_ Trunks snapped out of his daze. 

“Yeah, I can fly. Taught myself when I was 10,” he said with a hint of pride. “I’m… not sure what you mean by the other stuff though.” 

“Hm. I can’t flare my ki right now to show you, Gohan doesn’t like it when I do that and he can’t see me, but super saiyan is when your muscles get large and your ki goes through the roof! And your hair turns blond and your eyes turn blue. Or, uh, blue for Gohan at least, I don’t know if it’d be different for you.” 

“That sounds… strange.” A transformation for, he assumed, strength? His mother had already warned him about what would happen if he looked at the full moon, but there was _another_ one? At least it wasn’t a giant animal this time. 

Goten’s expression turned thoughtful. 

“I guess. I don’t really know why we need to change color like that. But the strength comes in handy!”

“Can _you_ turn super saiyan?” He shook his head.

“Not really… I want to learn but Gohan says it takes a lot of training and a lot of grief and rage to achieve it… He’s only taught me basic self defense so far.” 

A lot of grief and rage…. In this world, it should be easy. The hard part was training. Would Gohan be open to training _him?_

“I think I almost did it though. When my mom died. But I think Gohan interrupted it or something because he snapped me out of it.” Trunks nodded, looking away. He had, terribly, completely forgotten that his mother died recently. Goten showed no signs of mourning. He wanted to ask why, but such a question was almost definitely offensive. Even now, Goten had mentioned his dead mother matter-of-factly. No trace of the deeper rage and grief he must have felt, if he almost turned. 

“Oh!” Trunks turned back at his sudden happy noise. “Actually, I can show you what ki is.” He lifted his pale hand to shoulder level, facing the ceiling. A miniscule ball of blue light appeared and hovered a few centimeters above his hand. It grew a bit, brilliant and captivating, before sizzling out. “Can you do that?” 

Trunks smiled. He lifted a hand and copied the movement. Goten nodded quickly, a delighted look on his face. 

“Then you _do_ know ki! It’s that!” He raised an eyebrow. 

“ _That’s_ ki?” Huh. He’d been calling it energy, like his mother. “So what do you mean ‘sense’ it?” 

“I… hmm.” Goten made a face. “I’ve never really had to explain it before, let me think. It’s like… well, you’ve got a lot of it. I have a lot of it. My brother has more than both of us. Humans, for the most part, don’t have much. The androids should have loads to spare, but neither me nor my brother can detect anything. Does that help?”

“No.” 

“Ok. The stronger you are, the more you have. So I could sense Gohan from the moon probably, but your mother I’d have to be within a nearby district. And I think it might also be easier to sense with someone you know well.” 

This… wasn’t helping. Goten seemed to catch on. 

“Later, I’ll ask my brother to power up and I’m _sure_ you’ll sense it then.” Trunks nodded. He was about to ask what his ki felt like when a three-bell chime sounded overhead. Goten inhaled sharply, jumping a little. Trunks stood up and brushed off some blades of grass stuck on his clothes. 

“What was that?” 

“It’s the intercom. It was used more when this place was, well, _Capsule Corporation,_ but now my mom just uses it whenever she wants me to go to her. I guess breakfast is ready.” 

They headed to the dining area to find a significant amount of food. Eggs, grilled fish, rice, and even fruit. His mom really went all out. Three plates for each of them and one for her. So the brothers must have a saiyan appetite too. Another commonality between them. His mother was already digging in but Gohan stood to the side, one hand on the back of a chair, staring worriedly in their direction. 

Goten beelined to his brother and they looked at each other, a private moment of communication passing between them. Goten grinned suddenly, as bright as he had for Trunks, and something softened in his brother’s face. The tension seemed to seep out of him and a small, clearly relieved, smile appeared. He held out the chair and gestured for Goten to sit, which he did, hopping into the seat and immediately demolishing a loaded plate. Gohan hesitated before pulling out another chair, looking straight at Trunks. He accepted his chair with a small thanks and Gohan was last to sit. 

Trunks quickly devoured his food. It was tasty, so his mother must have utilized Gohan’s help a lot. He finished in minutes and when he looked up, zoning back out of that hyperfocus food always seemed to put him under, Trunks realized the pair of brothers had finished even faster than him. His mother was still on her last few bites, chewing thoughtfully. 

“A saiyan’s appetite was never something I thought I’d get sentimental over,” his mother murmured, smiling fondly. He’d never seen her so… _relaxed._ Even as her eyes were a little misty. It was like years had come off her in the span of an hour. She glanced at him and winked before standing. 

“Come on, Goten, let’s get you sorted out.” 

And so they left and Trunks was stuck with the older brother. 

The photograph of a younger Gohan laughing and carrying him, completely at ease, floated around in his head, the memory of it knocked loose. And now Gohan was an almost unbelievably broad, muscular man with a scarred face and dark eyes that, unlike his mother's, remained exhausted. He held himself like he was just on the edge of standing up and walking out. Either to follow Goten or to walk into the blizzard until it erased every trace of him, Trunks was not sure. He doubted he would actually leave anyway. Rarely did anyone fight his mother and win. 

From holding him happily in his arms to looking like he had half a mind to run away. It was undeniably awkward. 

“You look like your father,” Gohan offered, breaking a growing silence. He was studying him carefully. “What I remember of him, anyway.”

“You look like yours,” he replied, thinking about the other photographs. Would they like those? Should he show those to them? Maybe later. 

“I think Goten has me beat there.” He smiled, another tired, tiny thing, but it looked genuine. “I have too much of my mom in me.” His eyebrows furrowed a little, like he didn’t mean to mention her, and the smile turned into more of a grimace. 

Trunks wanted to ask about his father, he always wanted to ask, but it wasn’t polite to bring up the dead so soon. Only in passing. He struggled to find something else to talk about. The food? The weather? _Goten?_

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Gohan continued, saving them _both_ from an awkward line of questions. “Do you remember a few days ago?”

His cheeks heated. “Yes.” It was Gohan who knocked him out, he was sure of it now. If he was as strong and fast as Goten claimed he was. Made more sense than a falling rock landing on a high rooftop.

“Sorry I didn’t drop you off here directly. I didn’t want to creep you out or anything.” Trunks smiled and Gohan’s grimace transformed back into his previous smile. 

“It’s ok.” His voice dropped as he asked a question that had been simmering in his mind for the past few days. “Did… did you fight them? The androids?” 

“Yes.” Trunks stared, his heart pounding strangely in his chest. _Wow._ He was amazed. He was impressed. He was _jealous._

“What was it like,” he breathed. Finally, a person before him that could _do_ something against those damn androids. Who _survived._ Hope sat before him, the path to the future, with a scarred face and a ratty green sweater. Gohan obviously hadn’t killed them ( _that_ would have made headlines), but he _must_ have done some damage. And maybe if he and/or Goten could tag along with him, they could manage that kill. “Did you get them good?”

Gohan looked at him curiously. 

“They gave me this scar,” he said, gesturing at his face. “I barely escaped.” 

“Did you give _them_ scars?” That’d be fun to see. Almost as much as their deaths. 

“I barely escaped,” he repeated. Hm.

“Goten seems to think you’re the strongest person in the world. Are you?” 

Gohan’s smile finally dropped and he knew he overstepped. He cringed internally, an apology already forming on his lips. Gohan spoke again before he could. 

“ _They_ are the strongest in the world,” he said, giving him another analyzing look. “I come in third. Unfortunately.” 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be rude.” 

“It was an honest question,” he replied blandly, giving a tilt of his head. “I wish I _was_ the strongest.” He scoffed suddenly, looking away with more than a trace of bitterness. “As I’m sure everyone does.” 

“I can help,” he blurted, the words bursting out of his mouth. If anything, he was surprised he held them in for this long. “I know I can! Let me go with you next time, please!” Gohan was shaking his head before he even finished. 

“I can’t allow that.” His heart fell, but he held strong. 

“But I _can_ help!” He was strong! He was fast! He was no _super saiyan,_ but he was undeniably powerful! “Two, _three,_ is better than - ”

“I’m not dragging you or Goten into these fights,” Gohan interrupted firmly. “I’ve already had these talks with Goten. I can do this.” His serious gaze flitted away and glared at the salt shaker. “I just need _time.”_

“You don’t need to do it by yourself though. I can - ”

 _“No,”_ he growled lowly, and it was so harsh and intimidating, Trunks felt a shiver go down his spine. There was no changing this man’s mind. His answer was final. Trunks finally fell silent, his cheeks heating again and the back of his neck prickling. He nodded, his gaze falling to his own clenched fists. 

A large hand hovered, then grasped one of his fists briefly in a light squeeze. He looked up, bizarrely, to softness, black eyes that held as much affection as when they looked at Goten. Something weird happened in his chest and he felt like a little kid suddenly, flustered by his own naivety and painfully aware that Gohan saw right through him. 

“Has anyone trained you,” he asked softly. Trunks shook his head. “I’ll train you, if you want,” he said. He nodded eagerly. And there must have been something in his eyes that Gohan liked because he smiled, and it was large and free and unrestrained and he caught a glimpse of the person in those old photos. The person Gohan used to be. Trunks decided he liked his grin too. It was as warm as his brother’s, but only half as disarming. 

Trunks thought back to said brother’s words earlier. 

“Goten mentioned something about sensing ki. Can you… can you show me?” 

“Of course. I’m surprised you don’t know. I could have sworn you knew when me or your father were nearby. As a baby, of course.” He did?! Gohan scratched his head. His smile faded, but he looked far less restless than before. Almost content. “I guess you could have forgotten without different, fluctuating levels around to tell the difference. I’ll show you in our first training lesson, you’ll remember quickly.” 

“When will that be? Our first lesson?” 

Gohan looked out the window. Outside, the steady onslaught of snow continued. It was supposed to last 4 days.

“When the blizzard is over. People of our strength - ” a thrill went through Trunks at the words, _our_ strength “ - could really cause some damage. I don’t want to ruin your mother’s pretty gardens; we’ll go to some nearby wasteland.” 

“They’re not _that_ pretty,” he said eagerly. “We could go to the third floor garden, that one’s the ugliest.” Near decrepit, to be honest. There wasn’t much point in keeping pretty gardens in such a world. His mother only kept two gardeners for the first floor - a memorial to her father.

Gohan let out a startled laugh.

“Regardless, I don’t want to cause any property damage.” The blizzard could not end fast enough. Trunks glared at the snow outside. “Don’t pout,” he said, breathing out another laugh. “It’ll be over soon.” 

“It’s supposed to last _four_ days.” 

“Time flies by,” he said patiently, with all the air of a wise old man. “Faster than you want it to sometimes.” 

“Good,” he said, nodding to himself. “I can’t wait to start.” Couldn’t wait to fight the androids himself. Gohan would give in eventually, he was sure of it. Three _was_ better than one, simple fact. He beamed at Gohan, suddenly and almost overwhelmingly pleased. Excited. A mentor. _His_ mentor. Gohan smiled back. 

The sound of a door opening had them both turning. His mother and Goten walked back in. He seemed to glow, a satisfied smile stretched across his face, his dark eyes bright. Like sunshine personified. He bounded towards his brother, a skip in his step. Gohan stood up as did Trunks, a little dazed for some reason. He stopped right in front of them, his gaze darting between him and his brother, smile only widening. There was that sweet, clean smell again. Like cardamom, he realized. Or maybe nutmeg. 

“It’s _done,”_ Goten announced. Gohan made a soft sound, clapping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it lightly. Trunks stared, feeling the corners of his lips pull up helplessly. 

“Well,” his mother interrupted, making him drag his eyes away from Goten, “now that we got that sorted out, let’s go pick out your rooms.” The brothers turned to her. She smirked at Trunks suddenly and he stood up straighter, immediately on edge. “Goten, do you want the room next to Trunks?” His face heated. Oh, _why_ would she point him out like that?? Why would she phrase it like that? What if he said _no -_

“Sure!” Oh, thank Kami. He let out a relieved breath and it came out louder than he wanted it to. Goten looked at him curiously. Trunks decided to study the ceiling. They’re perfect for staring at, truly. A completely white expanse with zero decoration. His mother continued. 

“I assume you want to be near your brother, Gohan?” He must have nodded because she let out a loud and clear, “Alright, let’s go,” and then the sound of her slippers walked off. He chanced looking down again. Goten was looking between him and the ceiling, a curious quirk to his brows. Gohan just stared at him. Trunks followed quickly after his mother, before he could be asked anything even more embarrassing. 

Goten quickly caught up to him, Gohan not far behind.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he chirped. Trunks shook his head. Despite it all, he felt his lips curve up into another smile. It seemed impossible not to in his presence. 

“I’m glad you guys are getting along so well,” Gohan murmured from his other side. “I think the both of you will be great friends.” 

“Oh, they’re gonna be _best_ friends,” his mother chortled, glancing back at them and smirking like she knew something Trunks didn’t. 

She showed the brothers their rooms and they all spent several hours cleaning them up; dusting, washing the sheets, rearranging it to their tastes. Trunks let Goten pick some clothes and books from his own room, happy to give him anything he wanted. Gohan’s room remained undecorated at his insistence. His mother promised a shopping trip once the snow melted, despite Gohan’s protests. 

They skipped lunch like most everyone did nowadays. No one was immune to the ever depleting food supply.

Eventually, Trunks showed the brothers the photo album and they huddled around it on the floor. It was a quiet affair. He let them peruse it, Gohan mostly silent with an occasional anecdote, Goten wordless. It didn’t take a social genius to realize it was a much bigger deal to the brothers than it was to Trunks. Gohan lingered over certain pages, sometimes his father, sometimes one of his friends, before spilling some short story in a flat voice. Goten sat between the both of them, a warm solid presence in the melancholy and impromptu trip through time. When they reached the end, Gohan let out a noise of confusion.

“Where’s Piccolo?” 

“Who?” Gohan frowned, his eyebrows scrunched together. 

“I’ll ask Bulma, I guess…” A small pause before, “Piccolo was my first friend. Second father. _My_ mentor.” He cleared his throat. “He was... irreplaceable.” He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, held it, and exhaled slowly. When he was done, he turned to Trunks. “Do you mind if I borrow this for a few days?”

Trunks was _more_ than happy to give it to him. 

And he was grateful that night, curled up in bed alone, marvelling over the two people who inexplicably and immediately seemed to accept him, even _like_ him. Gohan was so… _cool._ A man that fought the androids and _survived._ He filled Trunks with a dose of hope he didn’t know he needed. He must have given his mother the same; an invisible weight lifting off her that he didn’t know _could_ be lifted. That Gohan could do that… even as he seemed to be carrying his own heavy weights. A testament to his character. 

And Goten… Oh, _Goten._ He stayed up for hours thinking about him. Going over every interaction they had, every smile Goten gave him. Trunks had spent so long alone, the only kid he knew how to talk to was himself. Thankfully, Goten was much better at that, filled with manners and charm (something his mother had remarked upon). If anything, Goten seemed happy to be around him. Trunks only hoped he could keep it up. He had spent all day wondering when Goten would tire, when he would exchange a _look_ with his brother, when he would make an excuse to leave the room as so many others had done when Trunks was a child. It never came. And it never _did_ come, in the snow trapped days that followed. 

They spoke about many things then, bonding while his mother and Gohan held their own personal conversations behind closed doors. 

They compared the physical characteristics of their saiyan heritage. Trunks’ tail was two centimeters longer but Goten’s fangs were a touch more prominent. Hair was self-evident. They were, a bit annoyingly, similar in speed and strength - not that there was much opportunity to test it. It became clear Gohan knew what he was talking about, training outdoors, when yet another poorly thought out race ended badly for the drywall in the third floor garden (his mother never entered that garden and they did not give her a reason to - it was their first secret together). 

They learned each other, frivolously and deeply. Goten loved sweets. Trunks preferred tangy foods. Goten loved animals, but only the huge predators or household pets (there was no inbetween). Trunks thought there was a cat in the house _somewhere._ Goten had lived in 13 regions (all deeply rural), traveled through over 30, and he was _tired_ of moving. Trunks wasn’t allowed to leave West City, but he knew every building and street it offered. They were homeschooled (even Gohan). Trunks’ mother kept too many secrets. Gohan kept his answers short and vague. They shared dreams of defeating the androids. Pondered the mystery of their fathers. Agreed that if Gohan let them fight the androids alongside him, they would finally rid the world of them.

It was Goten who delved deeper. Trunks still worried he would lose him if he pushed too hard, tried too much. The punishing self consciousness of a lonely existence. He knew, objectively, it was ridiculous. They lived together now, what could separate them? (Death, he supposed. Ever present in the darkness between thoughts. But that was a worry for another time). 

He let Goten take the lead instead. Let _him_ draw the line. Crack Trunks open first and peer at his metaphorical insides, before asking the same of him. It’d been working so far. Goten asked no question he would not answer himself. 

Three nights into the blizzard (dying down to mass relief), they sat curled up on the couch, an old animated movie playing in the background. The only light in the living room emanated from the TV, the colors flickering across Goten’s face. His mother and Gohan went to sleep hours ago, but Trunks had kept putting movies on, selfishly basking in every minute of Goten’s continued company. 

They were speaking in low, hushed voices now, forgoing the movie for conversation. They sat in mirrored positions. One arm wrapped around their bent knees, the other holding their half of a shared fluffy blanket so it covered their front. Mere centimeters separated them and Trunks felt wonderfully warm. A fuzzy lightness in his chest grew with every breath, and he knew it was the boy at his side settling into his heart like it belonged to him. And maybe it did. They’d known each other three days and Goten was his best friend. Here, he would admit anything. 

“When was the last time you cried,” Goten whispered.

Trunks flashed back to a little over three years ago. The slight swells on his chest had sent him spiralling into despair. It took his mother three weeks to find some puberty blockers, and then a few more to study it, adjust it to his particular genetics, and finally produce some vials for injection. Only then was he able to calm down after weeks of dread and anxiety. It had taken a lot of blood tests, but watching her flutter around her lab, muttering to herself, he started to comprehend how much she loved him. The last time he cried was after she had confidently (and carefully) stuck him with a needle, a smug grin making her look almost deranged. She had placed a bandaid on his punctured skin and a soft kiss over that. _That_ was the last time he cried. 

Soon, she would give him testosterone injections. He turned 15 in a month. 

“About three years ago. When I started to grow… um.” He swallowed and the next word formed in his mouth like gristle and fat, spit out accordingly. _“Breasts.”_

Goten turned to him eagerly. They had not touched upon this topic yet. 

“Are you ok with it? You know… your _body?”_

“I am now, so I guess so.” He eagerly awaited the day he would be a _man,_ broad shouldered and deep voiced. No 14 year old looked like that though, so there was no need to feel insecure about it now. Trunks rested his head on his knees, face turned to his friend. “Are you?” Goten’s expression soured somewhat. 

“No, not really. Mostly my lower half. There’s not much to speak of on top.” Lucky him. If his mother hadn’t worked so hard, he’d definitely be worse off. As it was, Trunks could wear any shirt and feel comfortable. 

“I guess it doesn’t matter to me because no one sees it, you know? My, uh, lower half.”

“Someone will eventually.” Trunks frowned.

“I suppose.” It seemed far off anyway. He thought about it. Really thought about it. “I don’t mind it that much, to be honest. I don’t _enjoy_ it, but I don’t dislike that part of me.” Goten huffed, but it didn’t sound directed at him. 

“Did your mother ever tell you about dragon balls?” Trunks nodded. “If those still existed, I would use it to change my body to the _right_ one.” 

“Not to wish away the androids?” That would be his first, and probably only, wish.

“First the androids and then my body,” he corrected. A pause. “I really like your mother. For giving me something I never thought I would have.”

“She’s good like that.” They smiled at each other. “What about you? When did you last cry?” Goten looked forward again, smile dropping. 

“When my mother died.” Oh. He cringed. _Of course._ Goten, for his part, moved on. 

“My… my mom told me our dad died alone. That he had a very contagious disease and no one but the doctor was allowed to see him. They didn’t even let her bury him, the disease was too new.” His dark eyes glittered in the changing light of the TV. His fists clenched his pajama pants so tightly, it looked like they would rip. “I think that’s the worst way to die. Alone. I... made sure my mom didn’t die that way.” 

Trunks hugged his knees closer, a chill crawling down his spine. Times like these, he never knew what to say. His grandparents died when he was a toddler, and that was the only loss Trunks had ever had. He barely remembered them. As the silence stretched, he looked for what he could offer now. Trunks couldn’t speak of grief or the past, but he _did_ know the future and all the hope it needed. 

“When the day comes that we destroy the androids, the world will finally be able to mourn in peace.” Goten glanced at him. “Your brother will teach us and one day he’ll realize we’re stronger together. We’ll win,” he said, mustering as much confidence in his tone as he could. It was a sentiment they had repeated amongst themselves many times already, but it was one he clung to. Goten’s dark expression cleared slowly as he turned to him again.

“Yes. I hope.” Goten tilted his head, a quirk to his brow. “I think Gohan’s scared to teach us too much.” Trunks’ jaw dropped. 

“Why do you think that?”

“Well… he’s only ever taught me the basics of self defense, only enough to escape. I know he wants to kill the androids himself. I don’t know,” he huffed, “maybe he thinks we’ll try to fight them without him. He thinks the world rests on his shoulders.” Trunks nodded. Goten continued. “But he hasn’t _fought_ them often. Mom could stop him, usually, and we would run away from whatever village we were living at.” Goten sighed. “I know he hated it. And I’m sure this training is more for _his_ benefit.” 

“Well. I suppose this is our first fight; convincing him we’re stronger together.” Goten nodded, a smile blooming across his face. Trunks was getting used to them, thankfully. He _wasn’t_ used to Goten’s casual touches. The squeeze of his hand, the linger before Goten’s hand dropped again. He was full of these little thoughtless squeezes, brushes, pats, and hugs. But every one of them was foreign to Trunks and, more often than not, set his body abuzz, the touch lingering for hours on his skin. He smiled back at Goten. But maybe he could get used to this. Maybe he would learn how to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are loved and appreciated!


	3. I'm hanging in there, don't you see, in this process of elimination?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know he describes Goten Like That, but Trunks is at that age where there’s only one thing on his mind…
> 
> Homicide <3
> 
> Please note that some of the worse tags start to kick in at this chapter. Thanks. 
> 
> Chapter title from O Children - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

The blizzard abated in the early morning of the fourth day. Trunks and Goten watched the snow melt from the windows of Capsule Corp., evaporating faster than expected as West City temperatures warmed up to its usual October levels. Truly a freak blizzard. By the sixth day, just after what used to be lunchtime, his mother led the first outing. 

They bundled up and left their house, walking straight to Monokai Boulevard - the busiest shopping street in West City. It was a bit of a slog in the remaining snow, but no one minded, least of all Trunks. A refreshing and much needed 15 minute walk, in his opinion. His grounding appeared to have been dropped, perhaps forgotten, something Trunks was quite pleased with. Years of walking around the city every day, it was the worst punishment his mother could have come up with. Other people milled about, but his attention was dominated by Goten’s tail curled high into the air and the way his bright gaze darted around at everything Trunks didn’t care to look at right now (it was fine, he had seen it all a million times before). 

Their little group arrived at Monokai Boulevard and the street was only _slightly_ less busy than it usually was. A large street canopy above it spared the shops and walkways from the brunt of the blizzard. Here, colorful stores and kiosks sold everything from home furniture and decor to fine jewelry to sports equipment to books. There was even a food court in the back, though it appeared the least occupied. 

Trunks zipped around eagerly, Goten firmly attached at his side, showing him the finest West City had to offer. He greeted every shop owner like they were old friends, which they certainly weren’t, but he found he had missed them all the same anyway. They stayed within sight of his mother and Gohan, who seemed to be trapped in a perpetual state of debate on whether Gohan’s room should be decorated. In the end, Goten had a map of earth, a complete comic book series, a plush of his favorite character in those animated movies they had watched a few nights ago, and a red beaded bracelet that his brother had said reminded him of one their mother used to wear. Gohan got a lamp and his mother got some seeds that Gohan had offered to plant in their unused gardens. 

An idea formed on their way back home, his eyes glued on the younger Son’s eager glances at every tall building. He whispered it to Goten and watched his face light up with excitement. When they returned to the house, Trunks set to convincing his mother that he _had_ to show Goten West City. Goten had _never_ been in a city before, much less lived in one! Had admitted so a few days before. Only Gohan had ever visited, so it was Trunks’ duty to show him the city he loved. His mother only smiled one of those weird, _proud_ smiles she’d been giving him lately and shooed them out the door. 

And so, the pair went out again. Gohan stayed behind, but he stared so intensely at their retreating backs, Trunks still felt the power of his gaze more than 5 blocks away. Despite that, the grin on his face refused to fade. He took the scenic route, hoping everyone was out today to see his new friend. And many were. Everywhere people ventured out of their houses, shoveling the remaining snow away, throwing it at each other, and building little figures. Construction had resumed, the booms of heavy machinery and drills audible in the distance. Goten’s tail brushed his shoulder often and he smiled everytime it did. 

Trunks took him to the most boring (but still important) places first: the business district and two of three major hospitals. They proceeded to have more fun in the art district, making hopeful plans to go to a variety of museums. He showed him the biggest mall in the city, but they agreed not to enter - too shopped out. He pointed out the amusement park, recommending _against_ visiting (nothing there was fun when one could fly). Eventually, several hours in, they began to enter the working class neighborhoods. There was a _lot_ of construction for cheap housing now, to accomodate West City’s rapidly growing population of refugees. Trunks ventured close to the growing black market, gesturing at the areas vaguely. He didn’t want to get in trouble with his mom or Gohan for showing those to him, but he deemed it an essential part of West City. Showed him the last major hospital. After that, they wandered around aimlessly, Trunks letting Goten take the lead now as he explored. 

In the glimmering melting snow, the orange sun illuminating Goten against the buildings like a painting, Trunks wondered who he’d be if they had always been together. He wished they’d known each other last month. Wished their mothers had reunited years before. Wished they had played in Capsule Corp.’s gardens as preteens and knocked their heads against the other’s as toddlers. Shared a life together. Goten’s tail wrapped loosely around his wrist and he brushed the soft brown fur with his thumb, once. Twice. 

“Do you mind if we see Suno?” Trunks asked softly, breaking a comfortable silence. Goten turned to him. “The woman I told you about?” He wanted them to know each other. It felt important. Goten agreed easily and then they were on their way. Trunks usually brought Suno something once a week. Sometimes it was groceries, sometimes it was clothes, sometimes it was a flower he saw growing on the side of the street. He made sure to tell Goten this. On impulse, he went to the corner store and bought her a pound of the freshest apples he could find. 

When they arrived at Suno’s house, she looked between them with wide eyes, grinned (much like Trunks’ mother had), and made them an apple dessert-type thing right on the spot. 

Trunks sat on the kitchen counter as she grated several apples. Goten looked on with a determined kind of curiosity, peppering her with questions about the dish. Trunks preened internally. He didn’t expect the dish or Goten’s interest in it, but he liked anything that brought out the twinkle in his dark eyes. At one point Suno winked at Trunks, again like his mother, to his continued confusion. 

When they sat down at the table with three bowls of some concoction of grated apple and plain yogurt and honey and some other things he hadn’t really paid attention to, Suno and Goten got to talking. Trunks kept silent, content to listen and eat. 

“My mother used to make something like this,” Goten said. “She knew a lot of good recipes.” Trunks believed it. Gohan was a much more decent and creative cook than his mother. 

“You must be a very good cook then,” Suno replied, smiling. 

“Oh, I don’t… I never asked her to teach me,” he said, his voice small. A light pink blush colored his cheeks. “I wish I had, though.” Suno was silent for a few beats before placing her hand over his lightly. 

“Would you like me to teach you some of the recipes I know? I’m sure it doesn’t compare, but maybe it could warm you one of these cold nights.” Goten smiled. 

“I would like that.” She returned her hand and the conversation moved on.

“So how do you two know each other?”

“Our parents used to be friends, but lost contact with all the…” he gestured vaguely. Suno nodded. “My older brother found Bulma though! Right before the blizzard, luckily. And she took us in and now me and Trunks are friends.” His face warmed and he smiled into his mug of milk. _Friends._ They were friends. 

“Yes, families and friends are separated daily,” Suno sighed. “Rarely are they reunited again. I’m glad the two of you have found each other. I’ve… noticed you have a tail too, so, even better that you found each other.” Goten nodded. 

“Our fathers were the same.” Suno shot Trunks a _look_ and he nodded. Yes, this was Goku’s child. She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t pursue it. Probably reluctant to bring up what had to be, definitely was, his other dead parent. They moved on to other things, like Goten’s favorite foods, his brother’s favorites, and what he would like to learn. When Goten left to go to the bathroom, after thanking her effusively for the food and her offer, Suno turned to Trunks with a soft look in her eye. She squeezed his shoulder. 

“I’m very happy you found someone,” she murmured. “You’ve been too lonely.” He shrugged awkwardly. He _had_ been, but it was worse to admit it out loud. Even worse was how _scared_ he was to say it out loud. As if as soon as he said Goten was his friend, it would cease to be. 

When Goten returned, they set off for home, the waxing gibbous moon rising high above them. Lucky they had missed the full moon because of the blizzard. Now they could walk around in the evenings without worry for another few weeks. Goten’s tail wrapped around his wrist again and his own tail finally loosened from his waist. 

“Thank you for showing me around,” Goten said, smiling. Trunks nodded. “I’m glad I have you.” His tail left his wrist to coil around the end of Trunks’ own and it was like his soul left his body. He stumbled on nothing, a completely flat sidewalk, but Goten caught him. 

“Thanks,” he blurted, his face burning and Goten’s hands a steadying force on his shoulders. His tail was still wrapped around his. “And it’s no problem at all, I… it was fun.” His stomach rumbled and his face heated even more. Nice timing, stomach. 

“I’m still hungry too,” Goten admitted. Kami, he was so _kind…_ “Maybe Gohan and your mom left us dinner.” Trunks nodded and they hurried the rest of the way home…

...Only to have their good mood ruined when they found Gohan and his mother arguing in the kitchen. They exchanged looks, immediately slowing down. When Trunks peeked around the doorway, his mother blocked Gohan from view. He hid behind a wall, Goten peeking as well before joining him. 

“- _and_ I can do it on my own. I’m tired of this conversation, Bulma.” 

“Vegeta thought he could do it alone. Piccolo thought he could do it alone. _Everyone_ thought that! Stubborn and prideful, that’s what you are.” 

“Like a saiyan,” he asked, his sneer audible. 

“And your _mother.”_ A sharp, angered inhale before his mother quickly continued. “She was a strong woman. I’m not denying that, _nor_ am I denying that you are a strong man. But they were all unwilling to ask for help, refused to _ever_ recognize it, and now you’re falling into the same trap. Some issues are bigger than one person can handle. _Please,_ accept that you need help. Please.” 

“They’ve never seen a _day_ of battle,” Gohan growled. “They’re gonna get themselves killed. And then what? What will become of me? What will become of you? What do you expect when I have to carry one of their dead bodies back? The dragon balls are _gone,_ there is no erasing that mistake!” 

“I’m not _saying_ take them out to fight the androids after the first lesson! Train them as well as you can and then attack them as a _team.”_ Gohan scoffed, dismissive and annoyed. “You _know_ one day they’re gonna go running off, it’s inevitable! Train them for _that,_ instead of just self defense. Trunks already ran away from me once, and you returned him, which I will forever be grateful for, but I live in such,” she gasped, “ _fear_ of it happening again and that he will have no real experience. _Please_ train them to actually _fight_ the androids.”

Silence. Gohan sniffed. _“Please,”_ his mother repeated. 

“You know, I saw Trunks on that roof in Paprikaburg - and even though I was still under the impression he would be a girl, and I’d forgotten the exact shade of his hair - I knew exactly who he was. _Immediately._ They’re so much more... _saiyan_ than I ever was. Fearless. _Begging_ to fight. Of course they want to,” he scoffed, “it’s in their blood.” Then, in a whisper almost too soft to hear, “ _I_ was always the strange one.” His mother made soothing noises at Gohan. “Enough,” he snapped. “I don’t need that.” He laughed bitterly. “Me. Sacrificing children. _Using_ them like this. I never wanted to do this. _Never.”_

Silence descended upon the kitchen and it _sounded_ like their argument was over. Trunks looked at Goten. His shoulders were slumped, eyes trained on the ground. When he looked up, his mouth was set. He nodded, a quick bob, and then held up two fingers. _Two minutes._

When two minutes passed by, they entered the kitchen noisily. Gohan and his mother gave them the leftovers they had indeed saved for them - and it was as if nothing had happened. They went to bed and Trunks laid awake for hours, only managing to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning. 

*

The next day was the beginning of an entirely new schedule. Tutoring in the mornings, training in the afternoons, and Trunks’ and Goten’s evening walks in the city. 

Gohan, to Trunks’ delighted surprise, joined them in their homeschooling as a kind of teacher’s assistant. All traces of the previous night’s angst and melancholy were seemingly erased as he, rather skillfully and eagerly, upstaged the tutor in math, science, and literature. Trunks vaguely remembered his mother once telling him that Gohan was a smart kid, and the various photos of him reading giant textbooks pointed to its verity. Now, Trunks saw just how true it was. In another life, Gohan would have been a great scholar. There was a lightness in his eyes that Trunks hadn’t thought possible, though Goten looked relatively unsurprised. Their presence made his school day fly by faster than it ever had before. 

Gohan’s happy role as a mentor was continued in their first training session. They flew 30 kilometers out of West City, to a place that wasn’t so far away from Paprikaberg. Their first lesson: ki. 

“Alright, kids,” Gohan said, a broad smile on his face. He stood before him and Goten both, hands on his hips. He wore an orange gi, the one Trunks had first seen him in. “Power up as much as you can.” Trunks stared at him blankly, but Goten seemed to have an idea of what he was asking for. A sharp gust of wind and a force, _current, energy,_ seemed to explode out of him, so powerful it almost made Trunks stumble while he was _standing._ The ground itself trembled and cracked underneath him, deep lines splitting the earth several meters. 

His aura seemed a mirage, like the near invisible waves of heat above a hot car in the summertime. Goten stood, strong and confident as his brother, a determined slope in his brow and a set mouth as this - this _ki_ kept climbing. Eventually, it seemed to slow down from its exponential rise and then stagnate, long after Trunks had thought it would. It stayed at this heightened level as he turned to Trunks, a smirk playing on his face. His mind went horribly blank (curved lips, proud eyes, hair billowing from pure and casual _power),_ but another crack of the earth returned his mental faculties. 

“I don’t know what he just did,” Trunks admitted once he could speak, looking between the brothers. 

“But do you _feel_ it,” Goten asked. 

“We’ll get to that,” Gohan promised. “But can you sense him? His ki?” Trunks nodded (it was _hard_ to miss), and Gohan’s smile broadened into something almost proud. “See? I knew you’d remember quickly.” Trunks grinned back, warmed and motivated by the assurance. 

The next 20 minutes was spent teaching Trunks how to tap into his “reserves” of ki, as Gohan had put it. Trunks found it rather quickly, but struggled to bring it out. Struggled even more at _keeping_ it out. When he was able to stay at about 60% of Goten’s power, Gohan ordered him to stop there and had Goten match him. Even at this level, Trunks realized they would have _destroyed_ Capsule Corp.

“We’ll continue every lesson on bringing it all out because I’m confident you haven’t hit your max yet, but for right now, we can move on to dodging punches.” He had Goten stand in front of him, leaving Trunks on the side. “Dodging is great because, well, you don’t get hit. Every hit your opponent lands is going to wear you down more and more. It’s probably wired in our brains to fight, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You have a number of things to keep track of when dodging even a simple, straightforward hook.” 

Gohan raised his arms and fists, falling into a stance. Goten eyed him, but remained still. He punched straight and Goten dropped to a quick crouch before standing up again. Stepped forward and jabbed again, making Goten step back to avoid it. Gohan dropped his pose, turning back to Trunks. 

“Looks easy enough, right?” Trunks nodded. “But in a real fight, it’s not going to be so easy. The first punch and dodge -” they quickly acted out the first punch again “- only works because I’m _only_ punching. I could easily knee him in the face or kick him. If Goten crouched too quickly, I could change the direction of my fist and strike him on his head or neck. And obviously, if Goten moved too slowly, my hit would still land, possibly in a place worse than intended. The _second_ dodge,” another reenactment, “is different in that there’s nothing behind Goten. There could be a wall behind him, there could be a rock or other debris he could trip over, there could be another opponent ready to trap him. You _always_ have to be aware of your surroundings. Got all that?” 

Trunks nodded dutifully. Anticipate hits from other places besides the fist, don’t be _too_ quick to dodge, and be aware of his surroundings. He wanted to practice immediately, a feeling akin to itchiness starting up in his muscles. Restless already? This training and all it entailed was what he had been missing. 

“Right. We’ll move on to more complicated dodges in future lessons, but for right now, let’s practice those two. Entertain yourself in the meantime, Goten.” Gohan resumed his position while Goten found a rock to sit on. “I’ll move slowly at first, don’t worry.” 

“I’m not,” he said with a grin, his entire body buzzing. Gohan smiled back. 

“Good. Do that first dodge until I’m satisfied,” he ordered. He swung, faster than anticipated but slow enough for Trunks to see it coming. The process repeated until Gohan would punch so fast, the only sign Trunks had was the minute shift of his body and the change in the rhythm of his breathing. It was an increasingly inhuman speed. _Saiyan_ speed. And Trunks had to use his _own_ saiyan speed to dodge it. The realization left him exhilarated. Gohan approved soon after, murmuring a tiny praise that _definitely_ made his entire day, and they moved on to the second dodge. Once he had that down, Gohan called for Goten to rejoin them. 

He had Goten raise his arms and shift his body into a basic defensive position, then had Trunks copy it exactly. Gohan prodded him gently until he was satisfied, and he had Trunks shift from a regular standing position to a defensive one roughly… a couple dozen times. Goten went back to sitting on the sidelines, alternating between watching them and chasing a beetle with a stick. When Gohan’s corrections slowed and became approving hums, he had Goten stand up again. 

“Now. Trunks get in position, and Goten, I want you to hit him.” Trunks blinked, raising his arms mechanically. He figured he should have expected that, but something about it weighed on the pit of his stomach. Goten’s hit broke through easily, smacking him with a fair amount of weight in the face. It left a dull ache, but it brought him back out of the unfortunate lapse of attention he had fallen into. 

“Sorry,” Goten cried, “are you ok?” Gohan frowned.

“I’m fine,” he said. And he was. “We can go again.” Goten exchanged a glance with his brother, who nodded, and then his next punch was successfully blocked by Trunks’ arms. Soon the outer skin of his forearms were marked red, but he blocked each hit and it seemed his earlier slip up was just a blip on the radar. 

Then, Gohan had them switch roles. 

“You want to strike with the knuckles of your index and middle finger,” he instructed. Goten waited patiently, smiling as he always did for Trunks while some horrible dread crept into his chest and brain. He tried to swallow his abrupt anxiety down like it was bile. It didn’t fade. “Anywhere else and it might ruin your hand. Hey.” 

Trunks turned towards Gohan’s concerned face. 

“Did you hear what I said?” Trunks nodded. 

“Knuckles of the index and middle finger.” Gohan stared at him for a moment longer. 

“Ok,” he said. “Goten.” Goten nodded. Gohan stepped back to allow them to… start. 

Trunks blinked, frozen otherwise. Seconds passed like that. Goten smiled encouragingly at him and it didn’t make him feel better. His skin crawled. When Gohan inhaled, about to speak, Trunks struck. A quick jab of panic. His fist landed on the warm, soft skin of Goten’s forearms, successfully blocked, but it did _nothing_ to soothe his racing heart. Goten’s arms dropped and his grin faded when he saw Trunks’ face.

“Sorry. I… I don’t…” Trunks looked at Gohan, as if that would help him form the words for his dilemma. Gohan’s frown made a reappearance. 

“Do it again,” he ordered. Trunks forced himself to raise his fists again. He wasn’t trembling, but it felt like it. Goten wasn’t smiling this time. After another moment of hesitance, he hit him. Blocked. 

Trunks wasn’t sure he could do it again. 

“You won’t hurt him,” Gohan said. “You can go harder than that.” But that was hardly the problem. Trunks couldn’t go _at all._ “Come on. One more time.” 

He forced his arms and fists up again, Goten’s dark eyes curious and beckoning. He squeezed his eyes shut and punched. He didn’t need to have them open to know Goten blocked it. When he _did_ open them, Goten’s face had turned towards his brother. Trunks faced him too. 

Gohan scratched his head, studying him. 

“You shouldn’t shut your eyes like that,” he commented. “Can’t really afford to.” Trunks nodded, his cheeks burning.

“It didn’t hurt. Like, at _all.”_ Goten rotated his arms around to examine them. “I don’t think you hit hard enough to mark them up for even ten minutes.” 

“We’ll conclude training for today,” Gohan said slowly. He finally looked away from Trunks to glance at the sky, an hour away from sunset. “You guys can head back, I want to do some solo training in private.” 

Goten powered down and Trunks followed suit, relieved. He felt a bit muted and lethargic from the shift in power, but repressed it. He joined Goten already levitating in the air and they waved goodbye to Gohan, before flying back to West City. Gohan’s own power spiked, higher than his brother’s and with even more ease. Goten didn’t look back, so Trunks didn’t either.

“Are you ok,” Goten asked, several minutes in. 

“Yeah.” 

An hour and a half later on their newly shared evening walk, a long silence that made Trunks blurt, “Did you ever hurt anyone when you were young? Like, break-their-bones kind of hurt?” 

Goten shook his head. 

“Gohan taught me how to control my strength and any, you know, impulses, pretty early.” 

Trunks kept silent. It must have been that… his past of hurting people. He couldn’t think of any other reason. He was _fine_ until the very end… 

He hadn’t touched anyone in years, much less _hit_ them. The feeling of Goten’s soft skin at the end of his fist… 

He shivered. Maybe it was just because it was Goten. Against the androids, it would be a much different story. He nodded to himself. Yes, it would be a much different story. Reassured, the tension melted out of him and the rest of their walk was spent following Goten’s continued exploration of the city. 

The days and nights continued on like that. Gohan continued to outclass the paid tutor and his mood seemed to improve by the day. Within a week, Trunks managed to coax all his (thrilling, exhilarating) power out to two proud faces - three once his mother was informed. Trunks and Goten went out every evening, wandering through West City, and Trunks discovered just how endearing Goten was (his sweet face and nature charmed most everyone, attracting babies and stray animals, making old men laugh, and women gave him pieces of candy for his kind manners). Goten learned how to cook some simple dishes with Suno while Trunks did some evening meditation Gohan recommended. Gohan, also, after a few more failed punching attempts and to Trunks’ _endless_ relief and gratitude, encouraged ki work for him rather than direct combat.

All in all, Trunks had never been so happy in his life before. So at peace. Two weeks passed and it was only getting better. 

*

Rain poured down in West City as soon as Trunks and Goten had returned from training, leaving them trapped at home. Goten had wandered into the kitchen instead, humming a small tune, and Trunks had followed. He was a bit twitchy; bit restless and the weather certainly wasn't helping. Gohan had shown him the super saiyan form for the first time and he couldn't get it out of his head. All that power… And the first thing that had popped out of his mouth was, "Where are your pupils?" He was still facepalming mentally. But past that, he was trapped by the warning words Gohan had told him: the first time was always the worst. A rush of violent rage difficult to see past and even more difficult to get under control. 

A light hand on his elbow broke him out of his thoughts. Goten's red beaded bracelet was hidden underneath the sleeve of his white shirt and not for the first time, Trunks kind of wanted to see it. It looked nice on him. Of course he would never say that out loud though. Too weird. 

“I made a beet soup," Goten said. He tapped his index fingers together and bit his lower lip. “Do you want to try it?” 

“I’d love to.” Goten beamed at him. 

Trunks took a bowl out of the cabinet and Goten served him. Some soft emotion plagued him at the action and he remained silent. Goten handed him a spoon before standing by his side patiently. _Affection._ That's what it was. 

He took a bite, ready to praise it no matter how it tasted. Thankfully, it was decent. Perhaps a bit more than decent, actually. Flavor flooded his mouth and he dipped his spoon back into the bowl for more without thinking. 

“It’s delicious,” he said, before taking the second spoonful. Goten’s eyes shone and a shy smile grew on his face. 

“You think so? Do you think I added too much lemon?” 

Trunks shook his head. “I think you added just the right amount of lemon.” Goten gifted him with another small squeeze of a hug. Trunks was becoming a bit addicted to them. He avoided thinking about it. Instead, he moved back to his earlier train of thought. 

How close had Goten gotten to transforming when his mother died? Was it only loss that could trigger it? If so, that was cause for alarm. How were they supposed to help defeat the androids if _someone_ had to die for them to trigger it? 

"Hey… do you think Gohan was convinced that he should take us with him? By my mother?" 

Goten didn't respond right away. Got his own bowl and spoon and served himself. 

"I don't know," he said. "He doesn't tell me much. He's not just teaching us self defense anymore, but I really don't think that means he's willing to take us with him." Trunks nodded and a small silence befell them. "I'm a bit worried about it," he admitted. 

"Me too… Do you think we should bring it up again? The both of us?" 

"Like team up on him? Me, you, and maybe your mom?" Goten laughed, but it was void of humor. "Yeah… what else is there to do…"

Trunks nodded. "How about tomorrow morning during breakfast? The sooner the better?"

"Yeah… the sooner the better." 

And so, it was. The next morning, they had breakfast in their dining room, per usual. He and Goten had a plan to get Gohan into a good mood and then, convince him to let them go with him to the next android fight. The plan was a bit underdeveloped, but they both operated best by the seat of their pants. Or, if he was being honest, the only way they knew how to operate. 

Gohan was just winding down on a little speech about the merits of alphabetical organic chemical nomenclature, prompted by Goten. 

" - and that is why it is better the compound is called chlorofluoromethane and not," he chortled, _"fluorochloromethane."_

"Wonderful," Goten said, after a small pause to make sure Gohan was done speaking. "Really simplifies it down." His mother giggled. 

"Fascinating and useful," Trunks agreed. He exchanged a glance with Goten. "Um. I have a question." 

"Shoot," Gohan said, an open smile on his face. Trunks looked at Goten once more and he nodded. Right.

Gohan's smile dropped. 

"No." He shook his head. "No." 

"I haven't said anything yet!" 

"I know what you're going to ask. You think I don't? You think I just _forgot_ the pleading and begging from the _both_ of you? You think I don't know what you _really_ want?" 

"No, Gohan, let's talk about this in the open," his mother cut in. Gohan turned on her. 

"I'm not _taking_ them with me!" He turned back to him and Goten. "I know you guys really want to fight, I know it's in your blood, but that doesn't mean you _should."_

"But we have to," Trunks exclaimed. "Who else is capable of helping you?" 

“I'll be _fine._ They think of me as some kind of chew toy - and they will _definitely_ look at you two as new ones if I introduce you to them. They don’t want to lose a toy, they're gonna keep me alive as long as possible. They always leave once I’m down.” 

“Until they get _tired_ of you,” Goten bit out. 

"Is that supposed to comfort us," his mother wondered. Gohan shook his head. 

“You don’t… you don't know how it follows you.” And then he seemed to wilt, as if suddenly and thoroughly exhausted. A tiredness that had sunk into his bones and settled into his soul. Trunks almost felt bad for bringing it up. There was a faint boom in the distance. Construction beginning for the day. “You’re not ready for the androids.” 

“You obviously need help!” 

“Three of us could take them!” 

“No,” Gohan said, as firm as an order. Another boom in the distance and a strange high pitched noise, but he couldn’t focus on it over Gohan. “I can’t drag you guys into this, If you guys die… It’s best to train until the both of you are truly ready. And you're _not_ ready.” 

A piercing siren broke through the air. The high pitched noises were suddenly, disturbingly clear now. 

Screaming. 

They all tensed. A loud explosion shook the building and Trunks' drink spilled, the glass rolling and shattering on the floor. _Androids_. 

“They’ve come,” his mom gasped. "They're here." 

His heart skipped a beat. His stomach dropped. The time had come. Now was their chance. Trunks stood up mechanically, Goten and Gohan right along with him. 

As if Gohan could read his mind, he turned. 

“Stay here," he barked. "Don’t you _dare_ follow me.” And with a final glare, he ran out of the room. He left. He _left._ He glanced at Goten to find him staring after his brother, fear clear on his face. Another loud explosion shook the building. His mother grabbed their hands and pulled them, running out of the dining room. He followed in a daze as she led them through doors and down stairways. Gohan left. Gohan left to go fight the androids by himself. What if he didn't come back? What if they got him? What if today was the day he died? What if they killed him? What if they killed him and all of West City was destroyed because neither Trunks nor Goten was there to help him? 

"This is a small bunker." His mother's voice floated towards him in a haze. "We'll be safe in here. Hopefully." He didn't recognize the room, couldn't place it. A loud crash rocked their house, almost knocking him over. His ears rang and he knew it was hit. The walls shuddered, the sound of glass shattered against the trembling floors. He heard a small moan and realized belatedly that it spilled from his own lips. Could he stay in here? Safe while his city was getting destroyed? While Gohan fought all by himself out there? 

Every second that passed was only more agonizing, the destruction outside only getting louder, more intense. His ears managed to focus on one poor child's wail. They must be just outside, confused and hurting. He swallowed hard.

The door to this new room, a big metal thing made of thick steel, started to close with an absurd amount of slowness. He almost wanted to laugh if the situation wasn’t so dire. Goten did laugh, a small titter. 

“I’ll fix that,” his mother muttered. She turned to the controls, flipped the panel, and started to tweak it. 

He turned to Goten. Goten turned to him. He looked determined. Brave. Trunks hoped he looked the same. They nodded simultaneously. 

They sprinted out before the closing door trapped them in. Once they escaped, they flew out of the immediately apparent breach in the wall - a clear gift from the androids. His mother screamed their names, but he couldn’t afford to focus on her. She’d be safe there. Gohan was the one in danger. 

Already, the city was doused in the smell of human fear mixing with smoke and flesh. It only spurred him on. 

They found him quickly, following his super saiyan ki, only two blocks away. He was just barely hanging on, cornered by 18 while 17 wandered about nearby as if bored, blowing up seemingly random buildings and cars. 18 sent Gohan crashing into a wall. He disappeared under the collapsing building and in what felt like being caught in front of an oncoming train, he was suddenly before them, furious, surrounded by the golden light of his magnificent ki. 

"How could you follow me," he hissed, eyes blazing. Trunks almost lost his nerve. Almost. A cut on his cheek bled down his neck, disappearing under his shirt. 

"How could you ask us to leave you here alone," Goten hissed back. 

"Who is this," a suave, sly voice asked. Trunks glanced to his side to find 17 floating a meter away, pale blue eyes full of malice and mischief. Trunks hadn't even noticed his approach. No detectable ki. He clenched his fists and glared. He would not cower. 

"I thought you and this one were the last ones," an equally smooth, yet higher pitched voice responded. 18 had floated next to Goten, gesturing at him with a lazy hand. "I was wondering where he went." 

"He looked _real_ eager last time we saw him." 17 chuckled. "Well, now we know." 

"You were making friends." She smiled at him. Trunks glared back. 

Gohan cursed. 

“Three against two…. Well, that’s just not fair. Right, sis?” 

“Looks like we need to level the playing field a little.”

For one second more, they stayed there, glancing between each other. And then 17 moved, so quickly Trunks couldn't even _see_ the action, and Gohan's left arm was tossed away to the city below. Gohan roared with pain, clutching at his shoulder, blood spurting out of it. Goten screamed, powering up and launching himself at 17. Trunks moved forward too, but was cut off by 18.

"No," she said simply. She smelled of expensive perfume and a hint of smoke. She jabbed at him and he moved back. Jabbed at him again and this time her fist brushed his cheek. He swung and she caught it. 

“That was cute. Are you actually trying to fight me?” She held his wrist just tight enough that he couldn’t pull it out. “It was a weak punch, if I’m being honest. Daddy didn’t teach you how to fight?” 

“You should know,” he said, with as much malice as he could muster, “you killed him before he could.” She laughed and squeezed his wrist, twisting it unnaturally. A snapping noise came from it and he clawed at her grip to no avail. A high pitched whimper he didn’t know he was capable of escaped him. Pain shot up his arm in jagged spikes, but he tried not to make another sound. 

Her head suddenly knocked forward, making her loosen her grip. Behind her: Gohan. He had a wild look in his eyes and, for some reason, smelled strangely of burned flesh. Trunks took the chance to escape momentarily, flying to the ground. He hid behind some rubble. 

His wrist was crushed and his hand looked limp and… squeezed, like a glove half pulled off. Pain radiated from it in dull aches and sharp twinges. He swallowed hard and tried to catch his breath. 

A sudden squeal of pain had him popping his head out and searching for Goten. Half a block over, 17 was crushing a limp Goten beneath his feet. _Goten._ He jumped out of his hiding spot, unsure of what he could possibly do to help, but Gohan was there already, kicking 17 out of the way and into a nearby lamppost. 

18 punched Gohan right in his left shoulder, where his arm used to be. He screamed in pain. 17 rejoined them and then the androids were ganging up on Gohan, leaving Goten bleeding out on the ground. 

Everything seemed to slow down. 

The sight of Gohan fighting like a desperate cornered animal while his every move splattered the streets and rubble with blood. Goten’s tiny groans of pain and how _still_ he was. The collapsed buildings around them, the sirens and the silence as every human in West City sheltered in fear, the smell of their fright pervading the air and mixing with smoke and flesh. His entire world was ending and he was helpless. _Useless,_ just like everyone else. He and Goten hadn't been able to do _anything,_ and in the end, it was still Gohan against the androids. A warm wetness ran down his cheeks. _Useless,_ he was _useless._

17 strolled back to Goten, a slow casual walk as Gohan let out a roar of anguish, apparently unable to knock 18 back anymore. 17 stood over Goten and smiled. 

And in that moment, there was _no one_ Trunks hated more than 17. His heart stopped and restarted in a violent frenzy. Fury burned his lungs like smoke and he gasped for air, his anger lighting him up like a fever. It resounded through his bones, thrummed through his entire being. A surge of power flashed through his muscles like electricity. There was a moment when wrath threatened to overcome him, as he watched 17 step on _Goten_ (pretty and kind and _wonderful Goten),_ his heart beating frantically and painfully against his ribs. His power, his _rage_ was burning him alive and he let it. Let go and he was consumed in golden flames. 

Trunks yelled, lighting his one working hand up with ki, a stupidly large amount, more than he'd ever been capable of before, and launched it at 17. The blast knocked him off his feet and 17 landed, stunned, flat on his ass. Trunks raced towards him, possessed by violence, and clawed at him with his one working hand, wanting nothing more than to disfigure that horrible, handsome face until it looked like how he felt: torn and cruel and wild. He managed to pull out a handful of hair before 17 responded, backhanding him so hard, Trunks flew off him, rolling and scraping against the concrete street. He landed against the side of a building, softly enough that the wall barely shook. He gasped against the cold ground, blinking and gritting his teeth _hard_ to get rid of the daze. He got up. He wasn't done yet. 

18 had rejoined her brother and they looked at each other - a silent conversation passing between them. They didn't look _at_ _all_ concerned. It grated his nerves. _Wounded_ his pride. He shuddered. 

_“LOOK AT ME,”_ he screamed. They turned back to him, clearly startled, before twin sneers grew on both their faces. He slid down to a proper stance. He would rip those smiles off their faces. 

Not even a blink later and 18 was right before him. Her smile grew as she, too fast for him to block, roundhouse kicked him into a metal gate. It broke around him, tearing his skin and clothes. Trunks stood back up, sliding into a more defensive position. 

“My _god,_ you are _pissed,”_ she laughed, her icy blue eyes looking him over. She didn’t bother to make even the vaguest illusion of a stance. 

“One day, I’m going to kill you and your brother.” 

She raised an eyebrow. He realized too late how _close_ they were to Gohan. She kicked his body and Trunks was crashing right back into the metal gate, landing entangled with Gohan. A jagged metal bar dug itself deep into his calf and he let out a hiss. He shoved the limp, groaning Gohan to the side, grit his teeth, and grasped his leg with his working hand. Trunks pulled up quickly; he couldn’t afford to extract the bar more carefully with the androids still in _his_ city. The sirens were still wailing but he could hear the nasty squelch of his now ripped calf perfectly unimpeded. He wobbled unsteadily onto his feet as quickly as he could, grabbing the metal bars with his now blood slickened hand for balance. 

18 was gone. He scanned the area where 17 was last. Nothing. He looked around wildly, at buildings, at rubble, in the air and on the streets. No trace of them. His breath came quick. Where _were_ they? He looked for Goten to find him alone, and even though he was surrounded by a puddle of his own blood, Trunks felt a relief so intense, his knees gave out. A small groan from Gohan prompted his words from earlier to echo in his head. 

_They’ll keep me alive as long as possible._ _They always leave once I’m down._

It was over. It must be over. For the moment at least. The fight and all his injuries caught up with him in a wave of exhaustion and aches. It flooded his body, the force of it making him collapse completely and knocking him out of his wrath-fueled state. Over, it was _over._

He closed his eyes, consciousness fading rapidly. The concrete was cold against his skin, a small relief; the radiating pain from his _everywhere_ dragging him into darkness. He was just going to sleep a little bit… 

A small slap on the side of his cheek had his eyes shoot open again and he gasped, his mind on full alert again. Gohan, for it was just Gohan, took the opportunity to shove in some small bland smooth _thing_ that he immediately wanted to spit out. 

“Chew,” he barked. He chewed obediently and swallowed. Immediately his wounds stung a thousand times worse. A loud snap alarmed him, and he looked down just in time to watch the skin on his arm shiver and contort as his wrist formed again. A more burning sensation for his calf. His ears rang with a high pitched buzzing and his mouth filled with a metallic aftertaste. He rotated his wrist. It worked, but there was a faint soreness to it. “Goten,” Gohan pleaded, half a growl, putting something in his palm that looked like a Lima bean and shoving him with the little strength he had in the direction of his little brother, “Give it to Goten.” 

Trunks crawled over to him quickly, not trusting himself to walk yet. Goten’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his face scrunched up in pain. He refused to stare at the bloody meaty mess that were his limbs. He placed a soft hand on his cheek, the lightest touch he could manage, and those dark eyes cracked open a sliver. Trunks placed the bean against his lips with his other hand. He accepted it. More snapping noises and Goten flinched, a small moan escaping him. Trunks brushed his sweaty hair back gently and rubbed his thumb soothingly against his cheek. He was overly aware this was the first time he touched Goten without the other boy initiating. 

When his dark eyes opened again and met Trunks’, he wondered if Goten knew. 

He turned super saiyan for him. For Goten. West City and Gohan was the build up, but _he_ was his snapping point. It was a truth too powerful to say out loud, even as his heart suddenly yearned for the other boy’s acknowledgement. Those large dark eyes held him captive as his gaze darted around Trunks’ face. A finger came up to brush Trunks’ own cheek and came away red. 

A small noise sounded from Gohan’s direction. 

Goten was at his brother’s side in an instant, Trunks right behind him. The smell of singed flesh hit his nose again and now he could see why. At some point, Gohan had cauterized himself. The rest of the fight appeared to have torn open the burns again, and a small puddle of blood lay beneath him, a bigger one where he had been before he had crawled to Trunks. He was horribly pale now, his breath coming in pants. Goten had to kneel in the blood to maneuver Gohan onto his back and shoulders. Trunks rushed to help him. 

“Why didn’t you use the bean on yourself,” Trunks gasped. 

“You’re my little brother too, Trunks,” he slurred, brushing his lips against his temple. Bizarrely, the kiss made him feel better than the damn bean. He nodded dazedly and stood up on shaky legs. 

“Your mother can fix this, right,” Goten asked. Gohan laughed deliriously, a touch hysterical, as if the question was the funniest thing he heard all day. Trunks supposed it might be. 

“I’m sure she’s got something. Let’s go.” 

Together, they flew back to Capsule Corp. They landed in a silent and still building and ventured close to where the bunker was. 

“Mom,” Trunks called. “Mom?” He was about to wiggle himself out from under Gohan to look for her when she came running out. Looked like she _did_ fix that door. 

His mother screamed. 

“TRUNKS!” She ran towards him. She took in Gohan and gave a piercing shriek. “ _What happened?!”_

“They cut off his arm,” he said dumbly. 

“Trunks, go find an emergency room doctor at the nearest hospital!” 

“But what if - ”

 _“GO!”_ He maneuvered himself out from under Gohan, his mother immediately taking his place, and flew outside again. He was _going_ to ask how a random doctor could help them considering their biology but…. 

Utter ruin greeted him. He hadn’t had a chance to _notice_ it before, so intent on fighting. The androids couldn’t have been there for twenty minutes and… 

He wasn’t sure what he felt. Wasn't sure he _could_ feel, anymore, after earlier. The sirens stopped abruptly and West City was plunged into total silence. 

Buildings he had walked past for years blasted into rubble, shards of glass from their windows littering the ground. Debris from buildings and personal belongings scattered on the streets. People were just starting to poke their heads out of their hiding places. Under cars, behind alleyways, from the doors of half collapsed buildings. All pale and wide eyed, blood and dust covering their bodies. A few stared up at him, their gazes haunted. Most began to shift the wreckage. Soon, wailing began as people found their dead, adults and children alike. Others screamed for help or called out names. 

He should… he should help them later…. 

After he got help for Gohan. He sped towards Wukong hospital, already cursing himself for wasting time ogling. 

He arrived at the emergency room, already quickly filling up. To all sides, people were getting treated for their head wounds, broken limbs, dead bodies being covered and then rushed out of the room so the space could be filled by someone still alive. An elderly woman shuffled past him, carrying an alarmingly limp bloody child. Would that have been him if Gohan wasn’t there? Would he have bled out on the street with broken bones and torn muscles? How could he take a doctor away from these people? A hand landed on his shoulder, gentle enough, but he still jumped. 

“I'm sorry," a dark skinned woman said, her face tired and drawn, but her eyes deeply patient. She wore the white coat of a doctor. Name tag: Dr. Syrin Vagal. "Are you ok?" She began to dab at his cheeks with a clean tissue and Trunks realized he was crying. Strange, since he still felt rather numb. 

“I need help,” he said. She nodded. “I need help,” he repeated. 

“Where does it hurt,” she asked, looking over him carefully. 

“It’s not me. My - my brother’s arm got torn off by the androids and he, uh, he cauterized it with fire.” Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, but she nodded. 

“How did he do that?” 

“Uh.” His voice trembled. He could _hear_ it. “I don’t know.” 

"Where is he," she asked, voice calm and measured and kind. "Can you bring him here?" 

"I need help," he repeated, stupidly. _Please_ stop asking questions! A crashing sound had him turning. 

"I _saw_ you!" Trunks stumbled back as a tanned, bald elderly man limped at him fast, pointing a finger at him. His head was bandaged, but there were a few red spots in the pure white gauze already. His other arm was in a sling. Dr. Vagal stepped in front of Trunks. 

"Sir, I need you to take a step back," she said firmly.

"I _saw_ him," he insisted, peeking over the doctor's shoulder. "Flying in the air! Fighting that blonde _bitch!"_

"Please sit down and rest, your injuries won't heal - "

"You need a doctor for the man you were fighting with? They cut off his arm, didn't they?" Dr. Vagal held her ground in front of him, but glanced back at him. He nodded at both of them. "Well, there you go! I don't lie! Let the boy have his pick of doctors!" 

Dr. Vagal moved back, clearly lost in a race of thoughts. Belatedly, Trunks realized the room had become mostly silent. 

"I just… I just need one," Trunks pleaded. 

"There aren't many of us to spare at the moment," she responded. More and more people came in, the noise from them hushing at the tense waiting room. Medical staff fluttered around in silence to attend them. Trunks' began to grow a little impatient. Yeah, he'd only been here for a couple minutes, but Gohan was _dying_ and he was stuck trying to get a doctor to leave the needy, also dying masses. He tapped his foot. Stopped when he realized he was breaking the tiles and shaking the building. The doctor stared at him. Everyone stared at him, save for some dutiful nurses and physicians. 

"I saw you too," a pale woman around Gohan's age said. Her black hair was shorn short and she looked almost militant. One of her sleeves was ripped off, revealing a large gash. A nurse was hurriedly dabbing at it with alcohol, throwing a glance at Trunks every so often. "You looked a little different though. Blond. It was _your_ anger that shook the earth. Like this building just now." 

Dr. Vagal nodded. 

"Ok," she said, a decisive look in her eye. "I'm going to find my father. He has the most experience with trauma related injuries. You can take him to your brother and return him when he's done." She power walked away, dodging patients and bodies and medical staff, and Trunks was left alone. 

"Thank you," someone breathed. A chorus of thanks and then a round of applause surrounded Trunks, slow and scattered at first and then a burst of it like the end of a show. He tried his hardest not to cringe into a ball on the floor, wishing for nothing more than to disappear completely from this moment. Preferred that they had just stuck to staring at him in silence. He didn’t respond, instead staring at the cracked tile beneath him, their claps echoing discordantly in his brain. He just wanted someone for Gohan...

Running footsteps hit his ears and he looked up to see Dr. Vagal coming back, an older man hobbling quickly behind her. The contrast between his white hair and his dark wrinkled skin was stark. He looked old. He looked _experienced._ Trunks trusted that. Had to. 

He met them halfway. 

“Do you mind if I fly us,” he said, before anything else could be discussed. 

“How are you going to do that,” the older doctor asked. 

“Like this.” Trunks floated up and grabbed him as gently as possible under his armpits, lifting him a few centimeters off the floor. He held him carefully away from him, holding his breath. He couldn't _wait_ to get this over with. 

The old doctor kicked his feet, a noise that sounded suspiciously like a frightened giggle falling from his mouth. 

“Fine by me,” the doctor squeaked. Trunks nodded. He flew them back to Capsule Corp as quickly as he could without frightening his passenger. 

“I am Dr. Alpel Vagal,” the man introduced. 

"Trunks Briefs." 

"Briefs! As in Dr. Briefs? _Capsule Corporation_ Briefs?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"My, my…" Dr. Vagal trailed off. Trunks spared a thought as to if he should start explaining what he knew of saiyan biology. Decided that he wasn't capable of any type of coherency yet, as proven just minutes ago, and so left it to his mom. They arrived at Capsule Corp and he flew in through the big hole in the building. He was vaguely surprised to see random people sitting around his home, head in their hands or staring at them blankly. He nodded at them. 

He looked for Goten’s ki and flew down the halls, still carrying the doctor under him. Goten would be with Gohan, he was sure of it. 

Trunks found them in the former employee’s nursing station. He set the doctor down immediately, relieved. Dr. Vagal strode forward, his mother as well. 

While they spoke, Trunks took in Gohan. His mother had pulled back the plastic cover on the sole cot and Gohan lay there, pale and still. A tiny amount of ki emanated from him, small enough that Trunks was worried, but mostly relieved at its existence. He _wasn’t_ sure if he was relieved or upset that Gohan was unconscious now. Relieved because he must have been in an excruciating amount of pain. Upset because he _needed_ him. 

Trunks hadn’t realized how _hard_ he depended on Gohan now. He’d be dead on the street if it wasn’t for him. And Gohan might still have both arms if it wasn’t for him. His shoulder wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the torn burned skin and a hint of bone lay visible. On the counter next to him were rolls of gauze in plastic, dozens of tiny bottles, and even a few pairs of tiny scissors. 

Goten sat in a plastic chair next to him, staring at Trunks wordlessly. He swallowed hard at the sight of his stiff, bloody clothes. He moved forward, Goten standing up as well, suddenly wanting one of his hugs so intensely, he was half sure it was the only thing that could give him peace anymore. 

"Can you clear the room," Dr. Vagal asked, before he could reach Goten. He stopped. 

“I’m not leaving,” Goten announced, spinning around to the doctor. His tone made it clear it would be more trouble to kick him out than to let him stay. 

“That’s alright, Goten,” his mother cut in, “you can continue sitting here. Trunks…” She tilted her head towards the door. 

Trunks walked out of the room, feeling their gazes on his back. Of course, Gohan needed the most attention right now. He closed the door behind him and leaned against the wall adjacent. Was vaguely aware he was sinking to the ground. He wrapped his arms around his knees and held himself, staring at a crack in the wall. 

...

Eventually, hours or minutes later he did not know, there was a sound down the hall. Right. There were still people in his house. 

He wished the day was over already. So he could go to sleep and not… _be_ for hours. But the sun was still high in the sky and outside people were still recovering. He rubbed his face into the sleeves of his arms, feeling like he _did_ come out of a sleep of some sort, and got up with a sigh. 

Trunks had to help his city. 

He wandered outside and spotted the nearest collapsed building that people were digging through. He joined them in silence. 

After an initial coughing fit from inhaling dust and ash, he learned to hold his breath while moving everything. He proved to be extremely efficient at such physical tasks and eventually they caught on that he was much stronger and faster than them. Very soon after that, he was pointed and guided to wherever he was needed most. And that’s how the remaining hours of his day went. 

Lightheaded and exhausted and hungry and pulling out an endless amount of mangled bodies dead and alive from under steel beams and wrecked cars, his numbness dissipated in place of pain and fear and grief only to then twist and build into a hatred so violent and powerful, he felt almost possessed. Just like when he went super saiyan. He had to stop his ki from rising too far more than once. 

Trunks almost wished the androids were still here so he could be that much closer to killing them. But he was no match for them. All his new power couldn’t add up to theirs. 

When the sun began to set, he walked back to Capsule Corp slowly. What could he do? What could he do against all this horror? It had to end. He would live to see it end. He would bring the end, no matter how long it took. Even if it took months, years, decades. He would see the end. 

His thoughts were interrupted by his mother. She hurried over to him, that last stretch of road between them, and embraced him. She rubbed a hand against his back, tangled one in his sweaty, dirty hair. He relaxed against her, the smell of her soap and her reassuring, soothing touches bringing him much needed solace. She murmured his name repeatedly, softly. He brought his hands up to clench the back of her shirt and closed his eyes. Minutes passed that way, and he drew every bit of comfort that he could. 

Eventually, she moved back. Trunks opened his eyes to find hers wet. 

“I would carry you back home if I could,” she said, a small curve to her lips. She held his hand instead and together they began to walk back to Capsule Corp. “Gohan’s lucid again. I want you to take a shower before you see him though. Everyone else did already.” 

Trunks had wanted a shower hours ago. He was more than fine with it. They returned to a building much emptier than he had left it. 

“Why were there people in our house earlier,” Trunks asked. He didn’t mind them being there, but… 

“When you guys ran out, I followed and found some very scared people already in here. I guess they deemed this building safer than the open street. I invited them into the bunker, I didn’t catch their names, it was all very quick.” 

Trunks nodded and she pushed him gently to the stairs leading to his room. Amazingly, there was no damage to their actual living spaces. One of the only decent parts of the day. The actual ruined part of the building was contained in the labs, the offices adjacent to it, and a tiny bit of their living room. _If_ what Trunks saw earlier was _all_ that had been destroyed. He was too tired to check his house thoroughly right now. 

He showered, spending a bit too long rubbing his hand over his calf (not even a hint of a scar). He got out, got dressed, and made his way downstairs, following his mother’s ki this time, to their living room. 

Gohan was on the couch now, half sitting, half laying down and covered in a blanket, watching him approach. His shoulder was wrapped up in white gauze. Goten was curled up next to him in a different blanket, eyes closed and breathing steady, a hand poking out to rest itself over Gohan’s stomach. The sight of them resting so peacefully soothed him a little more, melted some of the lingering tension within him. His mother flipped through channels on TV, a leg bouncing restlessly. It stopped when she noticed him. She beckoned him to sit with her and he did. 

“You went super saiyan,” Gohan stated, while his mother wrapped him up in yet another blanket. He nodded. If this was what Gohan wanted to focus on, Trunks wasn’t going to change the topic. No matter how much he didn’t want to remember those feelings from earlier. 

“I felt… useless. Desperate. And then hatred. I couldn’t do anything…” He gulped, his eyes glued to Goten’s sleeping face, beyond thankful for that magical bean that saved him. “I didn’t want to lose Goten. I didn’t want to lose either of you. That’s what did it.” 

For a moment, nobody responded. Then his mother sighed. 

“You like my brother,” Gohan intoned, a growing look of wonder in his eyes. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.” 

“Of course I like your brother,” Trunks replied. The real question was, who _didn’t_ like Goten? “Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends.”

Gohan breathed out a laugh. His mother shushed him, a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Let him figure it out himself, Gohan, I want to see how long it takes.” Trunks huffed. 

“Figure _what_ out? That I like him? I just said so, didn’t I?” 

Gohan just smiled at him. Oh great, now he was gonna get weird smiles from Gohan too. He changed the subject. 

“Are we sleeping here tonight?” His mother nodded, a small chuckle escaping her. 

“Very smooth, Trunks.” 

“I don’t need smoothness.” This made them laugh audibly. He scowled. He was too tired for whatever game they were playing. “Just put something on,” he grumbled, laying down and pulling his blanket tighter around him. “Something boring so I can fall asleep.” 

His mother continued to channel flip, but it didn’t matter. He was asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and a special thanks to everyone who left/leaves kudos and comments! 
> 
> Every kudos warms my heart and every comment helps me feel like I'm not just talking to myself lol


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